


The Patient in Room 212

by ConstantWriter85



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Coma, Doctor/Patient, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Conditions, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, POV Bucky Barnes, Patient Bucky, Reader-Insert, Seizures, Whump, nurse reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantWriter85/pseuds/ConstantWriter85
Summary: The coma patient in room 212 is an enigma. Nothing is known about him save for the single scrap of paper that was found in his pocket after he was brought in one warm summer night, following his collapse outside the Smithsonian. He has no name and no visitors, except for the night nurse that sees something in him, and gives him something to fight for.Bucky’s never laid eyes on the girl, but he finds himself falling for her. Perhaps, love really is blind after all.
Relationships: Bucky Barnes/You, James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, bucky barnes x you
Comments: 67
Kudos: 256





	1. I'm Still Here

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Not my typical headcannon for Bucky’s remembering and recovery, but I got this idea in my head and I couldn’t shake it. This story follows immediately after the Battle of the Treskelion, all medical and super-soldier inaccuracies are my own.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Medical Procedures/Trauma, Whump, Language, Anxiety, Mention of Death, Caretaker Abuse
> 
> Series Warnings: Medical Procedures, Whump, Mentions of Death, Sickness, Anxiety, Depression, Angst, Fluff

The coma patient in Room 212 of the Intensive Care Unit at Mercy Hospital was an enigma.

He had been brought in on a warm summer evening almost a year ago. Witnesses told the ambulance crew that responded to the call outside the Smithsonian that the man had stumbled a bit before he simply fell to the ground and started convulsing. He seemed to be alone, and a bystander had called 9-1-1. The paramedics said that it was a bad one, a full-body seizure that had lasted nearly twenty minutes.

They said he probably would have died if the crew hadn’t been literally right there. By the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, the man had stopped breathing. The ER crew revived and stabilized him, but the seizure had done its damage.

Now the man lived in Room 212 of the ICU, a seemingly permanent fixture. The doctors didn’t expect him to wake up, not after that, but as long as his heart kept beating and he kept breathing, Room 212 was where he would stay.

You had the sneaking suspicion the doctors kept him around because they were curious about his physical abnormalities.

The man was missing his left arm, for starters. A shiny metal prosthetic was attached at his shoulder, and while it looked to be at the cutting edge of bio-mechanical prosthetics, whoever had attached it had done a shameful job. Raw, angry scar tissue ran across the man’s chest and back where the flesh met metal, and you shuddered to think what the process of attaching it had been like.

There were other strange things about him as well.

His blood panel alone left everybody scratching their heads. His cells themselves seemed altered, and there were a number of strange compounds that even toxicology couldn’t identify.

His rate of healing was extraordinary. He had come in with a dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, and several lacerations and contusions. The doctors had been baffled when the day nurse called them back to Room 212 two days later to point out that he had healed completely.

Most coma patients started to show muscle atrophy after a month. It had been nearly a year now, though, and he still looked as perfect as the day he had been brought in. He was a large man, not an ounce of fat on him, and he looked like he had been carved from marble.

The only part of him that didn’t seem to heal was his brain, and it was probably the reason he had suffered the seizure in the first place. The doctors tried everything, but he remained unresponsive and comatose.

His CT scan had showed extensive damage to the sections of the brain that stored long term memory and governed decision making. It horrified you when you heard that the damage had appeared to be caused by the repeated misuse of electroconvulsive shock treatments.

All they had found in his pocket was a piece of paper. Torn at the edges and covered in nearly illegible handwriting, one of the other nurses had shown it to you when he was first brought in. It looked like a bunch of nonsense, but it was _his_ , so you retrieved it out of the trash can where she had thrown it. You smoothed it out and placed it on the nightstand next to him, looking down at the looping script on the page.

_Who’s Bucky?_

_Mission report._

_I can still hear the screams. They won’t shut up. They’re mine, and they’re not mine._

_32557--- what’s the rest?_

_Don’t do anything stupid until I get back._

_My name is Bucky. I have to find Steve._

_Where’s Steve? He’s my mission._

_I think I killed him._

_No, I pulled him from the river. I knew him._

_The train didn’t slow down, but I did. Frozen inside. My head hurts._

_Ready to comply._

The words were a little frightening, but they mostly just made you sad. It seemed like something bad had happened to him, and he was just trying to remember something.

No one knew his name, so the card outside his room said “John Doe.” No one stopped to consider the piece of paper they had found—they had simply written it off as the deranged scribblings of a very sick man. The doctors called it a persistent vegetative state, and they said that he would most likely never wake. No one ever came to visit him, which was not really surprising since his real name was unknown, but it broke your heart all the same.

Everyone deserves to have somebody.

You had hope for him. You always had hope, maybe even more so for the hopeless cases—they were the ones who needed it the most. All of your patients were special to you, but the patient in room 212, Bucky, seemed like he needed hope more than most.

***

**One Year Ago**

The back of the ambulance opened and the stretcher was rolled out, received by the waiting hands of the doctors and nurses.

“What do we got?”

“Thirty year old male, large scale tonic seizure, just went into respiratory arrest.”

Down the long hallway, questions were asked and answered as the stretcher rolled on. The bag-valve-mask hissed, and the brunette’s head rocked slightly. His left arm slid off the stretcher, and the nurse put it back. It looked like it was encased in metal.

“All right, lift on three.”

“Shit, this guy’s heavy.”

“Teri, get him intubated. How’re his vitals?”

“He’s tachycardic, blood pressure dropping.”

“Call up to the pharmacy, once he’s stable I want to start him on a sedative and anticonvulsant.”

Clothes were cut away. Gasps all around.

“Jesus Christ, look at his arm!”

“Those scars—"

“Is that thing real?”

“Focus, people—Teri, how’re we looking?”

“All set, I’ve got a normal sinus rhythm, blood pressure’s stable.”

“Good. What else do we have?”

Eyelids were peeled back to reveal intense blue eyes. A light shone briefly, and was snapped off.

“Pupils are fixed and unresponsive. Reflexes negative.”

“All right, get neurology down here. How long did the seizure last, anyway?”

“The crew said twenty minutes, but…”

“ _Twenty_? How is this guy still alive?! Never mind, what else—”

“He’s got a dislocated shoulder, it was set badly. Broken ribs and wrist, multiple lacerations and contusions to the face and torso, heavy contusions on his legs.”

A sigh. “Call up to radiology and order some x-rays. Let’s also send up a full blood panel to toxicology. Check this guy’s pockets, see if we can get an ID…”

***

**Three weeks later**

The patient in room 212 was having a panic attack.

He was trapped inside his own body, which was not unlike his experiences before this, but this time instead of watching himself commit horrors there was just nothing. Darkness. The inability to move, to open his eyes, even to swallow, all of which held its own kind of horror, in a way.

For the longest time he had drifted in and out, lost on a dark sea. He heard sounds and felt things, but nothing made sense. Consciousness seemed always just out of reach, floating farther away from him the moment he began to grasp it. He wasn’t quite sure how long he was like that, he only knew that his first lucid memories after the seizure were of her.

He woke up shrouded in darkness, and his first thoughts were of Hydra.

_Oh god, no…please not again! Fuck! How did they find me, I thought I…I can’t remember. Steve, help me!_

He flailed internally in panic before he realized it didn’t smell or sound the same as Hydra’s medical ward.

_Something’s off here, something’s not right. Wait, who’s Steve? I don’t…we were falling. I was falling…where am I?_

He heard the door open and the soft footsteps of someone entering his room.

“Hi there, I’m Y/N, and I’m going to be your new night nurse…except for Sundays, that is, when Cheryl takes over for me. That’s my day off.”

_A nurse. Okay, so I’m in the hospital…how did I get here? Why can’t I see? Why can’t I move? Oh, wait—she’s still talking…_

“…just the usual stuff, but who cares, right? It’s okay though, I kind of like working nights. It’s quiet.”

_What the hell is she talking about? Is she seriously talking to me? Where the hell am I?_

Gradually he learned that he was in a civilian hospital, and he’d been there for some time. He still didn’t know _where_ he was—he couldn’t even remember his own name. Faces and names were jumbled in his mind, and his head ached from what felt like a data dump of memories with absolutely no context.

His throat hurt. He vaguely remembered a tube being there, but it was gone now, and there was something under his nose that made him want to sneeze. There was a stinging sensation in his hand, and his head hurt, but other than that, he felt okay. Definitely not Hydra, especially with how much this lady was talking to him. They never did that, even when he _was_ awake.

_How do I know all these things?_

“I wish I knew your name. I’m a bit of a talker, and it feels strange talking to someone when you don’t know their name…sort of impersonal, you know?”

The girl sounded young, about his age. He finally confirmed that there was no one else in the room and that she was indeed speaking to him, which seemed just a little bit crazy. She never stopped talking as she moved around the room, fussing with things. It irritated him a bit.

_You know I can’t answer you, right? Jesus Christ, of all the nurses I get the crazy one._

“We found a piece of paper in your pocket, it’s here on the nightstand next to you. I can read it to you later if you like, but it _does_ say ‘My name is Bucky’ on it. I’m not sure if that really is your name, it sounds a little unusual, but if it’s okay with you, I’ll call you Bucky.”

_Wait…what? I know that name. Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky? Is that my name?_

His mind was reeling as he felt her adjust something on his arm, and it squeezed his bicep. It felt like she was checking his vitals. Her touch was startling at first. She was gentle though, and he felt himself slowly start to calm down. He realized that he could actually make out a lot of details if he tried, even though he couldn’t see. Sound, smell, touch—the more he paid attention, the more he noticed. It was strangely grounding.

The way she touched him—that was something he was completely unused to. Her hands were gentle, careful, as if he were made out of glass. When she had to use a firmer touch she always warned him and talked him through it, and he was grateful.

It was absolutely nothing like…before.

He heard her exhale as if she were trying to warm something, and he felt the end of a stethoscope press against his chest, moving slowly as she listened to his heart and lungs. It was the only time she didn’t talk, actually, and now that he was used to it, the absence of her voice was unsettling.

“Well, everything sounds good, Bucky, your vitals are nice and strong…you just need to wake up now, sleepyhead.”

_As if I weren’t already trying, doll._

“I know it’s hard though,” she said, almost as if she could hear him. “Sometimes we just need to take a minute…to get everything straight in our heads before we’re ready to face the world, you know? I get that, I really do. Something bad happened to you, I think, and maybe you just need some time to process everything in your own way. You’re a survivor, Bucky, I can see it.”

He was speechless, both physically and mentally this time. How could a complete stranger that he’d never even talked to—never even _seen_ —be able to read him so well? He was so confused. Before, he couldn’t remember anything…now though, now he remembered it all, except it was all jumbled up in his head and none of it made sense.

It scared him.

He felt her adjust his IV, and for one brief and wonderful moment, she held his hand. He immediately calmed. Her hands were soft and warm, and for the first time since “waking up”, he felt comforted, like maybe everything was going to be okay after all.

“You take your time, Bucky, I’ll be right here with you every step of the way. You’re not alone.” She gave his hand a small squeeze, and she stood.

_Please don’t go._

He wished he could tell her to stay. When she spoke again she was near the door, and he could tell she was smiling at him. He wished he could see it.

“Goodnight, Bucky, I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

_Goodnight, Y/N._

***

The weeks wore on, and Bucky still didn’t wake.

Today you were assisting Dr. Phillips as he placed a central line in Bucky’s chest. The decision had been made to switch from a standard IV due to Bucky’s missing left arm, and the fact that he still showed absolutely no sign of recovery yet. This way he could receive nutrition intravenously in addition to fluids and meds. It was a turning point, one you hated to see. It looked like Bucky was here to stay.

“All right, just a little bit farther and I think we’ve got it. Y/N, can you check the placement again?” Dr. Phillips asked.

You manipulated the ultrasound, finding the end of the line where it had been inserted into Bucky’s subclavian vein. Sure enough, there it was near his right atrium. You sat back for a minute and watched the doppler image of his heart, looking for signs of distress.

“Looks good, Doctor,” you said, swiveling the screen so he could see.

He nodded. You cleaned Bucky’s chest as Dr. Phillips secured the new line with a sterile dressing.

“I think we’ll keep him on oxygen for now, his levels are still fluctuating too much for my liking.”

He smiled as he saw you talking to Bucky the whole time as you hooked him back up to the IV, removing the old port in his hand. He knew how caring you were with your patients, treating them as if they were your own family. To be honest, you reminded him a lot of a much younger version of himself, before the wear of the ICU had taken its toll. He hoped it wouldn’t happen to you.

You, however, felt anything but burnt out. You loved your job—yes, you had large workload and it could be high-stress at times, but nothing made you happier than when one of your patients got to go home.

Coma patients required a lot of care, but it didn’t rest solely on your shoulders. You checked on Bucky once every hour during your shift, checking his vitals and the fluid levels, administering his meds and shifting him in the bed.

A physical therapist would come to exercise his limbs, and the nursing assistants took care of all the general grooming and linen change outs. They were mostly a good bunch, but occasionally they treated the coma patients like they were inanimate objects instead of human beings, and it irritated you. Bucky’s arm continued to be a fascination to just about every doctor, regardless of their department, but even that died out after a while.

Life went on.

You made you daily rounds, giving each of your patients the same tender care and your complete attention as you went about your duties. Some of your patients wanted someone to talk to, so you listened. Others, like Bucky, were incapable, so you kept them company. It didn’t matter to you…in your opinion, an extended stay at the hospital was a pretty shitty experience, and you tried to make it as comfortable as possible for them.

Months went by, and eventually the novelty of the patient in room 212 wore off. Washington D.C. was still reeling from the attack on the Triskelion, and more recently from the top secret SHIELD data that the woman known as the Black Widow had dumped on the internet. Soon, even the doctors stopped coming to room 212, with the exception of the attending physician, Dr. Phillips.

You, however, didn’t forget about Bucky. Of all your patients, it was his room you lingered in the longest. You supposed it was because he never got a visitor—you never had a John Doe on your ward before, and it broke your heart to see someone in need being left alone like that.

So you talked to him. You told him about your life, your mom living in New Brunswick, your sister at Rutgers. You told him about your dog, Sadie, and how much you liked the Rolling Stones. You talked about movies you had seen, books you had read, the weather and you opinion on the cafeteria meatloaf.

You also told him about current events. World news, sports, entertainment, anything to make him feel like he wasn’t missing anything. Sometimes, if your duties were going to take a while, you put on the news or a movie as background noise and commented on it. Occasionally you would ask questions, even though you knew you wouldn’t receive any answer beyond the blip of the heart monitor or the hiss of oxygen.

You liked to think your coma patients could hear you. It was too depressing to think otherwise, and with Bucky, it was almost impossible not to. He looked so perfect laying there, even after months there was no signs of atrophy…he looked like he was just sleeping.

At some point, every nurse in the ICU had become attached to a patient, and it was always hard when you reached the point when you knew the end was close. It broke your heart to watch your coma patients waste away to nothing until their bodies finally gave out, and you couldn’t bear to think of that happening to him. Maybe that’s why you fought so hard for Bucky, because you saw something in him. He was a fighter, and he deserved to have someone in his corner.

You liked to think everyone was as attentive and caring as you, but you knew better. Occasionally you would see evidence of rough or careless handling, but nothing had ever gotten you as fired up as when you checked on Bucky one night in October. You had just finished setting up when you noticed it.

“You would not believe what happened to me yesterday, Bucky. So, I was going out to warm up my car, you know, like I always do, and Mrs. Beyers next door—you remember her, the crazy lady with the thousand cats—she grabbed me before I could get back inside and started screaming about how her ‘Pickles’ had gotten his head stuck in the bannister and I just _had_ to come help…”

You frowned, seeing the blood crusted on his chin. The nursing assistant that had shaved him must have been in a hurry, because there was razor burn on his jaw and several small cuts on his face, the worst being near the dimple on his chin. Grumbling, you grabbed some gauze and dabbed at the cut.

“Hold on, Bucky, I’ll be right back.”

You walked to the supply closet and grabbed a bottle of aloe vera. Settling back down next to him, you started to rub it into his irritated skin. You dotted the cuts with antiseptic, and covered the cut on his chin with a bit of gauze.

“I’m sorry about that, sometimes the assistants can be a bit ham-handed. I’ll speak with whoever it was, you shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

You washed your hands and got your supplies ready to draw the weekly blood sample, pulling down the corner of his hospital gown to gain access to the line. There was some discoloration barely visible under the garment, and you frowned.

You pulled it down the rest of the way and gasped when you saw the bruising on his chest and arm. Your blood ran cold.

Checking Bucky’s chart, you saw that Dylan was the nurse’s assistant that had cared for Bucky that afternoon. You knew the day nurse, Charlotte very well, and you knew she never would have done this. Dylan, on the other hand, had been reprimanded twice for his rough handling of the patients, and given the state of Bucky’s face, you knew who was responsible.

Your jaw clenched. You forced yourself to remain calm as you finished drawing a blood sample. “I’m so sorry, Bucky, I should have seen this earlier. I’m gonna go talk to the floor nurse, I promise you this will _not_ happen again.”

Three strikes, and Dylan was out.

After that, you started taking over some of his care from the nursing assistants after your shift had ended, if only to spare him from tangled hair and razor burn. Everyone deserves some to be left some dignity, and the new assistant was more than happy to relinquish those duties to you.

The more time you spent with him, the easier it was to recognize his tells. Bucky’s EEG had shown that he was capable of feeling stimuli, even if he couldn’t respond. You began to notice micro-expressions on his face and changes in his heartrate. By observing these you started to recognize when he was stressed or in pain, and you found ways to calm and comfort him.

Bucky liked it when you ran your hands through his hair, and he liked when you held his hand. It came in handy—some of the medical procedures and daily care would stress him out, and it made you feel better to be able to provide some level of comfort and reassurance to him. Sometimes, he even seemed to respond in his own way when you would talk to him, and you wondered if he actually _was_ listening to everything you said.


	2. Merry Christmas Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Medical Procedures, Language, Mentions of Christian Prayer, Fluff
> 
> Warnings: Medical Procedures, Whump, Mentions of Death, Sickness, Anxiety, Depression, Angst, Fluff

Bucky lay in the hospital bed and waited for her to come.

He knew her by the sound of her footsteps, not brisk or impatient like the others, but steady and sure. She was someone who liked to take her time, someone who took care in making sure a job was done well. Someone who noticed the little things. The sun came up when her footsteps entered his room, and it set again when they retreated.

She came every hour after dinner. He could tell what time it was because he could smell the cafeteria food. Bucky’s sleep-wake cycle had gradually shifted until he mostly slept throughout the day, but he was awake for every one of her hourly visits at night.

He wouldn’t have missed one for the world.

He knew her by her scent. Bucky’s enhanced sense of smell was constantly bombarded by the antiseptic smell of the hospital. The coldly plastic smell of the oxygen as it ran under his nose, the sharp caustic sting of chemicals, the smell of overheated lunches wafting from the nurses station, and under it all, the stench of sickness and death.

It scared him.

The place where Hydra kept him always smelled of blood and leather and dirt, and every once in a while, the sharp tang of ozone right before his mind was wiped. Here was a different kind of horror, stuck in his body while the smells of life filtered around him, the low undercurrent of death never very far.

When she entered his room, it was like someone opened the window to a warm summer day. She smelled like coffee and vanilla, and a soft floral scent he attributed to either soap or lotion. Sometimes, mostly during the first few visits of the evening, he could smell her dog Sadie on her, and sometimes he could smell the tang of chlorine and the sweet musk of her sweat if she had gone to the gym before her shift. Y/N was a swimmer, and would sometimes take laps in the pool before work to clear her mind.

He knew her by her touch. It was gentle and kind, something he was wholly unused to. Not just from his days with Hydra, which would make even the most ham-handed orderly feel like mother’s touch, but even here. The doctors and nurses were gentle enough, but their hands were brisk and impersonal. Her hands brought him comfort, leaving a trail of soothing warmth wherever she touched.

The way she handled the callous assistant boggled his mind. Dylan’s attentions had been painful and harsh, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He could feel her anger, though, when she noticed the bruising and the cuts on his face. Bucky was wholly unused to someone protecting _him_ , and he found a new respect for her after that. She was a gentle soul, but she was not a woman to be trifled with.

He knew her by—and maybe, most importantly by—the sound of her voice. Most people who stopped in his room, and there weren’t many, didn’t bother to talk to him. Why would they? It wasn’t as if he could respond or even make it known he could hear them.

He could hear her in the room next door, talking first to Mrs. Williams and then to someone named Gary. She paid them the same attention she paid to him, which actually made him a little jealous at first until he realized it just confirmed what type of person she truly was. She actually _cared_ about her patients, not just him. Yet, he still noticed that his room was the only one she would visit after her shift ended, and that made it better, somehow.

Bucky. She called him Bucky, and at first he wondered how she knew that, when he didn’t even really know himself. Then, almost as if he had asked the question, she had told him about the paper they found in his pocket.

He gathered that he had suffered a massive seizure, and that’s what had put him in the coma. Y/N told him a little bit about it, and at first he didn’t remember why he would’ve been at the Smithsonian in the first place.

But Bucky had all the time in the world, and eventually he figured it out.

_“People are gonna get hurt, Buck.”_

_“I’m not gonna fight you.”_

_“You’re my mission.”_

_“I’m with you, till the end of the line.”_

He remembered the fight on the Helicarrier. He remembered the confusion, the disorientation, and above all, he remembered Steve. He had pulled Steve from the river, but he left him there. He hoped Steve was okay. People were looking for him, and Bucky was on the run.

He remembered visiting the Smithsonian now, and seeing his face up there on the wall next to Steve was a shock. The rest of the exhibit was a blur. He remembered feeling dizzy and sick to his stomach as he left. He had been fighting back a panic attack when the headache started, and then everything went black.

When Y/N invariably left, as she always did, Bucky was left alone with his thoughts and nothing but time. Time to sort through the endless memories, fragmented and distorted. Time to shuffle them into some semblance of order and try to make sense of them all.

Bucky remembered it all now.

He was James Buchanan Barnes, born March 10th, 1917. A Brooklyn boy and the best friend of Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. He remembered little Stevie as they grew up together, two against the world.

_“I can do this on my own, Buck.”_

_“You see, the thing is…you don’t have to. Because I’m with you until the end of the line, pal.”_

He remembered the war and the Howlies, the horrors of the prison camp and Zola’s experiments. And the train—good god, he remembered the train. He could still see Steve’s face and hear his screams as he fell, and the icy pain-filled darkness that followed afterwards.

He remembered Hydra, and what he had become. The mind wipes and the torture, the shocking cold of cryostasis. Bucky could still see each and every one of his victim’s faces, and that alone would have been enough to drive him mad, if it weren’t for her.

She was the one bright point in the darkness…his north star. He knew he was foolish, putting so much faith in a person he had never spoken to, never even _seen_ , but he didn’t care. Her voice was a soothing balm over his troubled thoughts.

Bucky wished he could open his eyes. He wished he could _see_ her, respond to her somehow, tell her how much light she brought him. He wished he could thank her for her kindness.

And he never wished for that as much as he did on Christmas Eve.

By that time, Bucky had been there for several months, by his calculation. It was hard to keep track, but he remembered as far back as July. He was mostly lucid on a daily basis, but there were still some periods where the time seemed to disappear, whole weeks swallowed up as he faded in and out, and he woke up wondering what he had missed.

He knew it was Christmas Eve, because it was all anyone would talk about. The doctors, the nurses, many of their voices unfamiliar to him because everyone had taken leave for the holidays. But, as always, Y/N was his one constant.

Bucky felt bad that she was working on Christmas Eve. He wondered why she didn’t have a boyfriend, why she didn’t visit her mom or her sister. People should be with family on Christmas Eve, but a small part of him was overjoyed she was there with him.

“Hey, Bucky!” she called as she walked into the room.

_Hi Y/N, Merry Christmas._

He could hear she was pushing her cart, which meant a full change out—IV, dressings, leads, and catheter. Even the prospect of all that unpleasantness didn’t dampen his spirits, though. Y/N always found a way to make even the crappy things seem better.

“Do you want a little music while we work? I brought my iPod with, I thought you’d like to listen to it for a while.”

She was quiet for a minute, and then Bucky heard Bing Crosby’s voice, crooning about how he was dreaming of a white Christmas.

“Hope you don’t mind the oldies, I love swing music—the new stuff just doesn’t seem Christmassy enough.”

Bucky didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

_It’s perfect, Y/N, it really is…you’re perfect._

“Well everyone is losing their minds out there, it is snowing like a bastard outside—” He heard her catch herself. “Sorry about the language, it’s really coming down out there.”

_Don’t worry about it doll, it’s cute when you swear._

“They’re predicting eight to ten inches before it’s over, everyone’s worried they’ll be stuck here tonight. I guess it’s a good thing I’m stuck here with you, huh Bucky?”

_There isn’t anyone I’d rather be snowed in with, Y/N._

She finished recording his vitals, and she placed a light hand on his shoulder. “Okay Bucky, here we go with the meds. We’ll take it nice and slow, I know you hate them.”

He really did. A few of the nurses just slammed the meds into his IV, and the side effects would hit him like a ton of bricks. Y/N was always careful though, slowly injecting the medication and giving him time to adjust to the dizziness and nausea. She gently rubbed his shoulder and watched his heart monitor for signs of distress, never pausing in her monologue.

“You know what I miss? I miss being a kid during snowstorms like this. Eight to ten inches—my god! I’d be on my saucer in a heartbeat, sledding all night down the hill behind my Grandpa’s house. I didn’t care how hard it was snowing, or how cold it was.”

_Oh wow, I almost forgot about that. We never had enough money for a real sled, so me and Stevie used to take turns riding my old man’s shovel down the hill in the park. We used to come home soaked to the bone, but we didn’t care—you’re right, none of that matters when you’re a kid._

She laughed a little. “I would do that right now, if I could. Then I’d go and drink about a gallon of hot chocolate—the old fashioned kind, not that Swiss Miss shit—and I’d curl up in front of a fireplace with Sadie and a good book. Rolling you over now Bucky, I’ll be gentle.”

Bucky felt her hands grasp his arm and shoulder firmly but gently as she turned him to change his hospital gown. “I bet you have a lot of traditions you’re missing out on this year, too. It sucks, being away from family on Christmas Eve. I wish I knew your real name. I wish you had loved ones here for you tonight instead of putting up with _my_ babbling.”

If Bucky could produce a tear, he would’ve. His parents and sisters were all gone, they had to be. He truly was alone, except for Steve and Y/N. And he wasn’t even sure if Steve would _want_ to see him, now.

She seemed to noticed his mood change, because she quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, I know that’s a touchy subject, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

_It’s okay, Y/N. You’re so perceptive, but even you couldn’t begin to guess who I really am. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a pleasant Christmas, and honestly…there’s no one I’d rather be with tonight. I’m glad you’re here._

Of course, she couldn’t hear him. “Allie’s over at Mom’s tonight, so that’s good I guess. I talked to them earlier today, they’re doing good. It sounded like they dipped into the spiked eggnog early, though—they were all full of giggles. Personally, I can’t stand the stuff, it tastes like chilled snot with cinnamon.”

Bucky chuckled to himself. He hated it too.

_Why didn’t you go home to see them? I know you miss them…_

“I thought about going home for Christmas, but I figured, let the people with kids take it off, you know? Nothing worse than a parent working on Christmas. I’ve got New Year’s off anyway, it’s on a Sunday this year, so it all worked out in the end.”

She had just finished drawing his blood, and she gave his wrist a light squeeze that sent warmth shooting up his arm. “Besides, this way I get to see you and wish you a Merry Christmas.”

_Wouldn’t miss it for the world, doll. Your visits are the only thing I look forward to anymore._

Bucky got another surprise when she came back to his room after her shift. Y/N was very personable with her patients, but she was always professional—if she was going to spend some extra time with him she always did it when she was off duty.

“Hey Bucky, I’m back, I thought you could use a little extra company tonight. Nobody should be alone on Christmas Eve.” She paused, and it seemed like she was checking something. “Or should I say…Christmas morning.”

They ended up watching _A Christmas Story_ , which was easy, because there was a channel playing it on repeat. Bucky had never seen it, but he thought it was hilarious, not only the antics of the kids and the big buildup to Christmas and the coveted Red Rider BB Gun, but Y/N’s commentary as well. He felt like he was actually watching the movie with her.

She sat in the chair next to him and held his hand, always maintaining that professional boundary. Sometimes she would touch her other hand to his wrist or brush it up his arm, and he wondered if she could see his heart jump on the monitor when she did that. He could tell she was close, maybe only a couple feet away.

Bucky got the sense that Y/N was a sweet girl, and while she had friends, she also had a hard time opening up to people. She had a big heart, and maybe the reason why it was easier for her to open up to him was because she saw he needed her.

He never once got the sense of pity from her, and for that he was grateful. Bucky didn’t deserve anyone’s pity, and he didn’t want it—and certainly not from a pure soul like her. She simply did it out of the kindness of her heart, and for him, that was enough.

“So, um…I got you something,” she said, drawing him back into the present.

She seemed a little shy suddenly, and Bucky could almost see the blush creeping into her face.

“I wrapped it, which is kinda stupid because…well, you know, but I still…I wanted you to have something to open for Christmas.”

_Y/N, you are the sweetest girl ever—you didn’t have to get me anything, I can’t even thank you properly for it._

“It’s an essential oil diffuser, um it’ll make the room smell a little nicer, maybe make it feel a little more like home. Candles are a big no-no with the oxygen, and wax melters can get messy, so I picked this out.”

He heard the ripping of the paper, and she picked up his hand and held it against something small and cylindrical. “The essential oils are supposed to help with healing and memory loss, and they can be pretty soothing. I um, I get anxious and depressed sometimes, and they really help me. I thought maybe it could help you too.”

Bucky’s heart broke, first at the idea of her feeling anxious or depressed, and then for the simple reason that she had put so much thought into her gift. He would have given just about anything to be able to sit up and hold her right then.

He heard her fiddling over on the table against the wall. “I’ll put it over here and turn it on low so it’s not too over-powering.”

Immediately, Bucky was inundated with memories. Sugar cookies and cinnamon…the potpourri his Ma used to place on the stove in the little pot. Pine tree…his Dad, setting up the Christmas tree in the living room, the snow still clinging to its branches.

_It…it smells like home. It smells like the kitchen after Ma just got done baking. It smells like Christmas._

“I tried some of the other blends, but they weren’t quite right. I made this one up myself, I use it at home, and it just…I don’t know, it makes me happy. I hope you like it.”

_It’s wonderful Y/N, thank you._

Bucky wanted to cry. It was a strange sensation, feeling himself getting choked up when his body wouldn’t respond. All the memories that had been dumped on him, all of the darkness and confusion, Y/N was his one bright light, guiding him through it. She took all the pain away.

All too soon, it was time for her to leave. Bucky could hear her turn down the lights and put her coat on, and his heart fell. He didn’t want her to leave. Not ever. She walked over to his bedside, took his metal hand in hers, and pressed a soft but chaste kiss to his forehead.

Bucky melted into a little puddle on the floor, feeling her soft lips against his brow. He knew she meant it as a platonic gesture, but he couldn’t help the strong emotions it stirred in him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kissed.

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

_Merry Christmas, Y/N. Thank you for…for everything. I hope I can tell you that myself soon._

Bucky hadn’t had a Christmas in over seventy years, but he wouldn’t have traded this one for the world. That night, for the first time since he was a child, Bucky prayed.

_Please…God, if you’re up there, and if you’re even listening to a miserable soul like me…please let me wake up. I know I probably don’t deserve it, not after everything I’ve done, just…please._

_I don’t care if you take me the very next day, I don’t care whether I end up in heaven or hell, just please…let me see her. Let me touch her. Let me thank her for everything she’s done. Let me tell her she’s a good person, the kindest person I’ve ever met, and the only thing that’s kept me sane._

_Please let me tell her I love her._

_Please._

Bucky had fallen for the ICU night nurse. He had never laid eyes on her, but he knew he loved her with all his heart.


	3. You Can't Save Them All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Medical Procedures, Sickness, Mentions of Death/Terminal Illness, Loss of a Loved One, Depression, Anxiety, References to the loss of a child, Angst
> 
> Warnings: Medical Procedures, Whump, Mentions of Death, Sickness, Anxiety, Depression, Angst, Fluff

It happened on a scorching summer night—the night you almost lost him. You were just finishing your nurse’s pass down with Charlotte.

“Hey Bucky,” you said cheerily as you pushed open the door to room 212.

Of course, he didn’t respond, but you immediately got the sense that something was wrong. Bucky seemed a little paler than normal, and dark smudges stood out under his eyes. Sweat dotted his forehead. You quickly took his temperature. Sure enough, he had a fever. It was low grade, but still worrisome.

“How long has he been like this?” You asked Charlotte.

Her brow was furrowed. “He had a very minor fever all day, but the attending just said to watch it. It wasn’t this bad.”

Looking up at the monitor, you noticed his heartrate was much faster than normal and his pulse oximetry was low. You pulled out your stethoscope, a sense of dread building. His heartbeat was rapid and weak, and when you got to his lungs your stomach clenched. Heavy, wet breaths, the sound of fluid as he struggled to breathe.

“It’s gonna be okay, Bucky,” you said. “Charlotte, can you get Dr. Phillips in here?”

Despite your worry, your training quickly kicked in. You raised the head of Bucky’s bed to help him breathe better and removed the nasal cannula, placing an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and turning the O2 level up.

“I’m right here with you Bucky, you’re gonna be okay. I know it hurts right now, I just need you to hang in there for a little bit longer, okay?”

Without a doctor’s approval you couldn’t administer any medication, so you waited impatiently for him. You soothed Bucky and tried to keep him calm as you listened to each gasping breath.

Finally, Dr. Phillips arrived, and the chest x-ray he ordered confirmed what you had been dreading—pneumonia.

Somehow, you had foolishly thought Bucky was immune to the usual complications that came with prolonged hospital stays because of his unique physiology. That was probably why the diagnosis came as such a shock to you. 

Over the next few days, Bucky’s condition continued to worsen. Bucky seemed to have a faster metabolism than most people, because the drugs didn’t seem to do a thing. He burned through them too fast for them to work. His blood pressure dropped and his fever soared, and the sounds of his labored breathing filled the room. Eventually they put him back on the ventilator.

For the first time, Bucky looked like he actually belonged in the hospital. He looked sick—really sick. It scared you, and for the first time you were afraid he would die. You continued with your nightly rounds of all your patients, but after your shift ended you would return to room 212.

You held his hand and talked to him like you always did, reassuring and comforting him. You placed cool cloths on his brow, dotting at the sweat on his face and trying to keep his temperature down with ice packs. It was Sunday, your day off, but you stayed. You couldn’t bear the thought of him being alone right now, or worse, slipping away while you were gone.

“I know you’ve been fighting a long time and you’re tired Bucky, but you can’t give up now. I’m right here with you, you’re not alone. You have to keep fighting.”

No response of course, other than the rhythmic whoosh-click of the ventilator. You brushed the hair back from his face before placing another cool cloth on his forehead. You took his hand in both of yours, and beneath your fingers you could feel the fast and thready pulse at his wrist.

“You need to fight and get better, so that one day you can open those beautiful blue eyes I know you’re hiding and I can meet you properly,” you said, smiling at him and biting the inside of your cheek to stop the burning you felt in your eyes. “I need you to stay with me, Bucky…please. I can’t lose you now.”

The door opened behind you, and Dr. Phillips came in. He didn’t even bat an eye seeing you there, he understood all too well. He did his checks and you talked a little about Bucky’s deteriorating condition. Finally, he drew up a chair next to you. You both sat in silence for a little while before he turned to you, looking concerned.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep, Y/N?” he asked softly.

“I nap in the chair.”

Dr. Phillips just nodded. Several long minutes passed before he spoke again.

“I had a patient like Bucky once, back when I worked pediatrics. His name was Noah, and he was ten years old when he died—leukemia. He was a fighter too, and it got to the point where I actually believed he would survive it.”

He sighed and sat back in the chair, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The day he died was the worst day of my life. To see someone I had grown to care about, someone who I had fought so hard for lose their battle…it almost destroyed me. I took some time off, and I almost quit. I couldn’t come back to this place—I couldn’t go through something like that again. My mentor stopped me though, and he told me what I’m about to tell you.”

Dr. Phillips turned and looked at you. “It’s okay to become attached to your patients. It’s what gives them hope, makes them fight harder…makes staying here a little less shitty. It’s what makes you a great nurse, and Y/N, you’re one of the best. But you have to understand that you can’t save them all. You have to be prepared to let him go, because I don’t want to see it destroy you.”

Long after he left you sat there, watching Bucky breathe and thinking about Dr. Phillip’s words. He was right, you knew that, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to even think about Bucky dying. Because your feelings for him ran deeper that you would ever admit to anyone, including yourself.

You just couldn’t lose him.

Grimly, you changed out the cloth on his forehead again, settling back next to his bedside. “Keep fighting Bucky, I’m right here with you. You’re not dying on me…not today, not tomorrow…”

The days went by and finally Bucky’s fever broke, and he began to show improvement. The relief you felt, when you heard him take his first clear breath, the fever gone—that was when you knew that your concern for him had gone beyond what was considered normal for a caretaker.

You were falling in love with the patient in room 212.

***

Bucky knew something was wrong as soon as she walked in.

Months had passed since he had gotten sick. He didn’t remember much of it—mostly just the fear and the pain, feeling like he couldn’t breathe—but he did remember her soothing touch and her voice, guiding him once again through the darkness.

He remembered her crying quietly at his bedside when he came out of it, another chaste kiss on his sweaty forehead and tears of relief that made him wonder if her feelings for him ran a little deeper than she admitted.

Y/N had returned to her usually chipper self after that, and life went on. Today though, she was different. Her footsteps were heavier, weighed down. Her voice didn’t hold its usual cheer when she greeted him. She went about her duties quietly, hardly speaking.

_Y/N, what’s wrong? What happened?_

Her silence scared him. She didn’t seem hurt, not physically at least. If anything she seemed to be even gentler with him, if that was even possible, her touch feather-light against his skin. The light that he associated with her was so dim, it was almost as if she wasn’t there at all.

_Sweetheart, talk to me. Please._

“I’m sorry Bucky, I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight. I…” her voice wavered and she sat in the chair next to him as if her legs just gave out. “My grandmother passed away this morning…right upstairs, in fact. Oncology—she had lung cancer, eighty-one years old. It wasn’t a huge shock.”

_Oh…Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry._

“She was a nurse in World War Two—deployed to France and everything. We were really close, she’s the whole reason I wanted to become a nurse. I wanted to help people, just like she did. She was the kindest, warmest person I’ve ever known. Margaret, that was her name…I’m not sure if you remember me telling you about her or not.”

_I remember her. I remember everything you tell me, Y/N._

Y/N was silent for a long time. “I got to be with her…at the end, and she went gently. I’m grateful for that.” She sniffed, and Bucky could tell the tears were close. He would have given anything just to be able to hold her right then. “Mom and Allie didn’t get here in time, they didn’t get to say goodbye. I’m so glad I was able to be with her…that she wasn’t alone…”

_I’m so sorry you had to go through that all by yourself, I wish I could have been there for you, sweetheart. I wish I could hold you right now and tell you it’s going to be okay. I wish I could wipe the tears from your eyes, because I know you’re crying right now and it’s breaking my heart._

He heard her sniff again, and it sounded like she wiped her face. “It’s not the first time I was with someone at the end, but it’s…it’s harder when it’s someone you really care about. I love my job, I really do, but sometimes…sometimes I hate it.”

_Please, take my hand, touch my arm, anything. You’re hurting so much right now, and it’s killing me that I can’t even comfort you._

Never had he felt so helpless. The woman he had grown to love was sitting only feet away, drowning in grief. She needed a friend…she _needed_ _him_ , and all he could do was lay there.

Finally she lightly touched the back of his hand, and he could feel she was trembling. He heard her take a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. Then she cleared her throat and stood suddenly, briskly washing her hands and returning to her duties with a detachment that was unlike her.

_Y/N, please…I’m right here. You don’t have to go through this alone. I know I’m practically useless, but I want to help you._

She didn’t say another word as she worked, her hands gentle but coldly professional. He could tell she was swallowing her grief, pushing it down deep with the rest of her emotions. It broke his heart.

Finally she finished, and she hesitated for a moment. Bucky could feel her looking at him. He thought she was about to leave, but to his surprise she slowly walked back to his bedside.

Gently, so light it almost wasn’t there at all, he felt her fingers brush against his cheek. Then, just as light, her lips against his temple, accompanied by one of her tears.

“Please don’t leave me, Bucky. I can’t…I can’t handle losing someone else I—”

She cut herself off. Standing suddenly, she turned and walked into the bathroom. Bucky could hear the water running, and her muttering to herself. He couldn’t catch everything over the sound of the faucet, but he thought he heard “…wrong with me…” and “…unprofessional,” followed by some intense and creative swearing.

Finally the bathroom door opened. Bucky hoped she would stay longer, but instead she turned to leave.

“I should get going. It seems like everything is taking twice as long as it should tonight, and I’m already behind.” Her voice was flat and lifeless, and he heard her hand settle on the doorknob.

_Y/N, you are_ not _okay. Please don’t go. Stay with me, please…just for a little while longer._

“I don’t know if I can come see you after my shift tonight, Bucky, there’s a lot of things to be done…arrangements, and…yeah.”

_Y/N, I love you. I love you and I’m worried about you. Talk to your mom, talk to your sister—talk to anyone, just don’t try to deal with your pain alone. You’re so good at taking care of others, please let someone take care of you for once. I’m sorry it can’t be me. I’m so sorry I can’t be there for you, sweetheart._

But of course, she couldn’t hear him. Bucky head the door open and shut, and the silence that was left behind was deafening.

_Goddamnit! I am absolutely useless. She lost someone, she was in pain, and I couldn’t even comfort her. After everything she’s done for me, all I can do is just lay here while her heart is breaking less than two feet from me._

Bucky lay there and stewed in his frustration and anger over the situation he was in, until he felt himself start to grow tired. Funny how that happened. But if anyone could think themselves into exhaustion, it was Bucky Barnes.

***

She was gone for several days.

Bucky had worked himself into a frenzy of panic, wondering what had happened. Wondering if she was okay. Logic told him she had probably taken some time off for the funeral—god knows the girl hadn’t taken a day off in over a year. Still, another part of him, the deeper, darker part, had concocted all sorts of scenarios that he constantly tortured himself with.

He had a new night nurse now. Her name was Angela, and although she was gentle with him she never spoke to him, she never comforted him or soothed his frayed nerves. Why would she? She couldn’t see past the broken shell that lay in the hospital bed, couldn’t see past the IV’s and machines to the man that lay beneath it all.

She wasn’t Y/N.

Bucky talked to her in his head. He knew it was absolutely crazy, but he felt like he was going to go out of his mind with worry. His greatest fear was that something awful had happened to her, and he would simply never hear about her again. That she would never come back, gone as suddenly as she had entered his life. Why would they tell him, anyway? He was less than nobody.

In the days she was gone, Bucky sank into a deep depression. He was giving up, giving in. He slept more, and even when he was “awake” he felt tired. He knew he had no right to love her—he had never laid eyes on her, never spoken a word to her. He knew everything about _her_ , but she had no idea who he was…or what he had done.

That still didn’t stop him from loving her. Bucky held out hope that maybe, just maybe, she cared for him in return. He prayed for a chance with her, knowing he didn’t deserve it at all.

Bucky finally drifted off to sleep, and he dreamed of her.

***

His first thought when he awoke was that everything was different.

First of all, he was staring at something white. Then he had a moment of panic when he realized he _was_ _staring_ _at something white_. His eyes were open—he didn’t even have to think about doing it, they just were.

Bucky blinked, shocked that he could actually do that. Everything was fuzzy and at first it was hard to focus, but then pebbled ceiling tiles swam into view. Raising his head was too much work—he felt as weak as a kitten. He licked his lips—god, his mouth was dry—and feebly turned his head, letting his eyes roam around the room as his vision cleared further.

_So that’s what it looks like. There’s the chair where she sits, and over there’s the diffuser she got me for Christmas. There’s the table she always bumps into, and…wow, is that today’s date?_

He saw a whiteboard on the wall with various information about his care plan, his doctor and his nurse on call. His heart leapt when he saw her name up there. He also saw that it was June 10th, 2015—he had been here for almost a year.

Bucky knew, even without looking at the clock or the darkness outside the window, that it was night. Y/N was working tonight—she was here right _now_. He was about to finally see her.

It took a lot of concentration, and the effort exhausted him, but Bucky was able to inch his hand over to the nurse’s call button. He pressed it, and his heart started to pound as he waited for the door to open.


	4. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Angst, Fluff
> 
> Warnings: Medical Procedures, Whump, Mentions of Death, Sickness, Anxiety, Depression, Angst, Fluff

It had been over a week since you had visited Room 212.

After your grandmother had passed, you had taken a short leave of absence to attend to the details of the funeral. Your mom was a wreck, and Allie was hip-deep in finals, so you took care of everything.

What some might have thought was a burden, for you it was closure. Sure, you were still grieving, but it was a unique experience to prepare the celebration of someone’s life—because that’s how you chose to see the funeral. A final goodbye, and a celebration of an extraordinary woman.

You met so many interesting people that had known her. So many lives she had touched. You hoped you could live up to the memory of her and leave a legacy like that behind.

The funeral was tough for everyone, but you got through it. After, everyone gathered at your mom’s house. You talked and swapped Margaret stories, smiling fondly at the woman’s spirit and tenacity. She certainly was a very special woman. Best of all, you had a long talk with your mom and your sister. It had been so long since you had all just sat down and talked, you felt like your relationship with them was better than ever after that.

You had been isolating yourself with work. You realized that now.

You had always been an introvert and very conscientious about your job. Lately, though, it seemed that you had allowed it to take over your life. Especially the patient in room 212.

You’d crossed a line there. You were in love with him, a man you knew absolutely nothing about. Bucky—if that was even his real name—already had a life somewhere, waiting for him. He could have a wife…kids…and here you were, pining away after him, talking to him like an idiot.

He probably couldn’t even hear you.

Enough was enough. You would continue to care for him, but you _had_ to dial it back. By about twelve notches. You couldn’t let things get out of control, because if things continued the way they had been, you were bound to get your heart broken.

But still, it was with a smile on your face and warmth in your heart that you returned to work one warm summer night. You were eager to see Bucky—you _had_ missed him. You opened the door to Room 212, pushing your cart in and letting it swing shut.

“Hey, Buck—" You stopped in your tracks, the words dying in your throat.

Two impossibly blue eyes were staring up at you.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said. “You’re Y/N.”

His voice was hoarse from disuse, and you could barely hear him. You remained frozen in place, your mouth slightly open as you stared dumbly at him. His lips twitched up in a smile. Then he swallowed thickly and winced, and that finally spurred you into action.

You grabbed a glass of water and a straw, and you tilted the bed up, lifting his head further with your arm so you could help him drink.

“Careful, don’t drink it all at once…you haven’t had anything in your stomach for a while, and I don’t want you to get sick.”

He sighed as you laid his head back against the pillows, looking up at you with a look of pure adoration that just melted your heart. His eyes searched your face as if he were trying to memorize it. You felt his fingers twitch against your leg, and you reached down to take his hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Bucky.”

You smiled. “Bucky? Is that really your name?” You let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, I’m so glad. In the back of my mind I always thought, ‘What if that’s not his name?’ That would be so awkward, me calling you by the wrong name this whole time, and I—what?”

Bucky was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He had a beautiful smile. “Some things never change, and I’m glad you’re one of them, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re a talker, and I’m glad that hasn’t changed now that you have a more captive audience.” He must have seen your confusion, because he continued. “I was here the whole time, Y/N. I could hear you and feel you, but I just couldn’t tell you.”

“You heard all that? Y-You really could hear me talking to you?”

Bucky let out something between a laugh and a sob, and his fingers tightened on your hand. “I heard everything. You were the only thing that kept me from losing my mind.”

He ran his thumb over your knuckles thoughtfully. “I was trapped. Trapped in the darkness with nothing but the demons of my past, and I was drowning. I’ve done…” he drifted off, swallowing thickly. “I have a lot of regrets, and to be left alone with them like that…they would have destroyed me, if it weren’t for you.”

Bucky coughed and winced again. Quickly, you grabbed the water glass and held it to his lips. His eyes drifted shut for a moment, and you cast a worried glance up at the monitors.

“Just take it slow, Bucky, your body’s not used to all this activity yet. Don’t wear yourself out.”

He smiled up at you, seeing your concern. He weakly tugged on your hand until you responded, sitting next to him on the bed. Your heart melted, and you had forgotten everything you had resolved to do. It was as if something shifted between you at that moment, your relationship crossing the line from professional to personal.

“Thank you Y/N. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, I…I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without you. You are the kindest, sweetest person I’ve ever met, and I’m so glad I’m finally able to look you in the eyes and tell you.” Bucky’s voice wavered, and you could see the tears gathering in his eyes. “I was so afraid I’d never get to.”

Your own eyes were starting to burn. “I was afraid too, Bucky. I care…very much about you, and I’m…I’m just…”

“I know.”

For once, you were at a loss for words, and you bit your lip in an effort to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. You felt nearly overcome with the emotions warring in your head—happiness, relief, surprise, and maybe just a little hint of fear. It would be wildly inappropriate, to tell him how you truly felt about him. And anyway, how could he feel the same way? You were nothing special.

Bucky seemed to sense your distress. It was a bit of an effort for him, but he took your hand and dragged it onto his chest, holding it in place over his heart.

“Shh…it’s okay. I’m here now. Please don’t cry, Y/N.”

His voice was soft and soothing to you, and the strong, steady heartbeat beneath your fingers was grounding. Time seemed to stop as you both stared at each other, the tension in room thick with everything left unsaid. Bucky’s hand tightened around yours.

Shyly, you reached out and cupped his face, lightly brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. It was a risk, and completely unprofessional, but Bucky closed his eyes and nuzzled into your touch.

Bucky breathed your name, and his eyes fluttered closed. He turned his head slightly, and his lips grazed the inside of your wrist in a hesitant kiss. Bucky must have heard your slight intake of breath, because he opened his eyes, fixing you with an intense look that betrayed his emotions.

He really did have feelings for you.

Your head was spinning, and it suddenly felt too hot in the room. Your face flushed as you were reminded where you were, and what you were supposed to be doing. You lurched to your feet, and Bucky’s eyes widened in confusion.

“What am I doing—you’re awake! I should go grab a doctor, they’ll want to—”

Bucky grabbed your hand, holding you in place. “Please…please stay for just a few more minutes. I’ve waited so long to see you, I can’t…please just stay.”

Stormy blue-grey eyes pleaded with you, and you felt yourself begin to cave. You could drown in those eyes. He was quite possibly the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and here he was, looking up at you as if you had hung the moon and the stars. 

Still, you were crossing a line here. If what he said was true, then you had been Bucky’s only contact with the outside world for almost a year. You had cared for him and comforted him, and you probably hadn’t masked your feelings for him as well as you thought you had. Bucky wasn’t in love with you, he only thought he was.

The Florence Nightingale Effect.

“I-I’m sorry Bucky, I have to…I’m gonna go get the doctor now, just…I’ll be right back.”

You gently but firmly pulled your hand from his and turned towards the door, missing the look of hurt that crossed his face.

***

Bucky slowly pulled himself to a sitting position, cursing at the weakness in his limbs. It had been almost a week since he had opened his eyes, and he still could barely move.

Once again, he was the talk of the ward. He could’ve knocked Dr. Phillips over with a feather when he entered Bucky’s room, a look of skepticism that quickly turned to shock when he saw his patient staring back at him.

There were tests—good god, were there tests. He had lost a little weight, but his body still looked as perfect as it did the day he was brought in. Bucky was exhausted with all the poking and prodding as they marveled at the state his body was in and wondered how it was medically possible.

Bucky could have told them, but he was afraid. He staunchly stuck with his story that he didn’t remember who he was, and they seemed to buy it. There were people looking for him—Hydra, SHIELD, the Federal Government—and Bucky shuddered to think what they’d do to him once they found him. He had to think and plan his next move, but first, he had to get better.

He worried about the weakness. The doctors said that it was perfectly normal after laying in a coma for almost a year, but he knew they were just shooting in the dark. Nothing about him was normal.

Bucky was afraid that it would never get better. He couldn’t walk, he could barely lift his arms. His neck got tired if he held his head up for too long, and his hands shook so badly he couldn’t even grasp a spoon to feed himself—just doing the simplest things left him exhausted.

Bucky cried that first night. He held it together until Y/N’s shift ended and she left, but the second she was gone the floodgates opened. He poured out each and every tear that he had been denied, his heart breaking.

He cried for the life that was now lost to him. He cried remembering the horrors that had been inflicted upon him, and the ones he had inflicted upon others. He cried for Steve, not knowing if he even wanted to see him again. Bucky knew he was still alive, Y/N had told him that much, but he had no idea what his best friend thought of him now.

After all, the Winter Soldier was the antithesis of Captain America.

Most of all, he cried for Y/N. For all her kindness, for all the times she had comforted him. He cried not knowing how he would tell her about his past, and whether or not she would accept who he really was.

That is, if she even cared for him at all.

Bucky knew he had pushed it too far. He had seen the look in her eyes when he kissed her wrist—stupid! Her face had been flushed and her eyes dark with emotion. At first he thought it was because she had feelings for him, but then she had bolted from the room, looking panicked.

Bucky had been despondent the entire day, worrying that he had screwed everything up. He thought he was going to have to wait until Monday to see her again, but to his surprise she came to visit him the very next day—Sunday, her day off.

“Hey Bucky, is this a good time?”

_It’s always a good time when it’s you, Y/N._

She stared at him for a moment, her smile faltering, and Bucky realized that he had answered her in his head instead of out loud. He blushed and shook his head.

“Sorry, I’m still getting used to answering you verbally. You can visit me whenever you want, Y/N, I like your company.”

_Good. Keep it light, lover-boy._

She looked relieved. Bucky straightened up as best he could and patted the bed next to him, smiling. She didn’t sit down. He started to say something, but she cut him off.

“Bucky, I want to apologize.”

His smile vanished, and he frowned. “Apologize? For what?”

Hesitantly, she took a couple steps towards him, twisting her hands together nervously. “I…I just want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I was completely unprofessional with you, and I…I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Now he was really confused. “Y/N, I—”

“It’s just that, I’ve grown rather attached to you, and I…it was emotional for me, finally seeing you like that. It was a wake-up call for me. I’ve crossed a line here, so um…I’m going to be transferring your care to another nurse—”

“No!” It was said with about all the force he could muster, which wasn’t much, but the panicked look on his face got the point across. That and the heart monitor, which was currently blipping out the frantic rhythm in his chest.

The nurse in her responded first. In two strides she was beside his bed, easing him back, her eyes wide.

“Bucky, calm down, you—”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he blurted. “Please, don’t leave me.”

She stared at him. Her eyes flicked back and forth between his, and he knew she could read every thought that was etched in them. Finally, the intensity was too much, and she looked away. Her hand was inches from his, and he took it.

“Y/N?”

Nothing. Bucky decided to press further. He couldn’t let her just walk out of his life.

“Y/N.” Bucky paused until she looked at him, and his heart clenched seeing she was on the verge of tears again. “Did I make _you_ uncomfortable?”

“What? No, I…you were fine, you didn’t do anything wrong—”

“Because I don’t think you did anything wrong either. You care, Y/N, and that’s what I love about you.”

Her mouth fell open slightly.

_Love. You said love…oh shit._

He decided to roll with it.

“And maybe…maybe what I feel for you is a little more than what’s considered professional.”

The way she was looking at him was enough to make him melt into a puddle on the floor. Bucky looked down at the sheets, his face coloring. “Is…is that how you feel about me?”

She was silent for so long he was afraid she wasn’t going to answer. Finally he looked up at her. Y/N’s face was flushed and she was biting her lip, looking like she was being torn in two.

“Bucky, you…you don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t remember who you are—you already have a life waiting for you somewhere. I can’t get in the way of that. I don’t want to end up hurting you.”

Bucky’s heart was breaking.

“You don’t even know who I am, Bucky. I’m just a voice. I’m nobody. Someone who’s taken care of you for the past year—it’s normal to think you have these feelings—”

“How can you say that?” Bucky’s face was flushed, the tears close. He was so scared he was losing her. “How can you say I don’t know you—I know _everything_ about you. You’ve told me yourself.”

“Bucky—”

“You’re not _nobody_ , Y/N. Not to me.”

The look he was giving her was so intense she had to look away. Her hand started to slip from his grasp, but Bucky held it tightly.

“You…you said you needed to leave because you crossed a line. That you’ve grown too attached to me, right? Well, that right there tells me you feel the same way I do. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance.”

His heart was pounding, and he wished someone would turn that goddamn monitor down, it was driving him crazy. Bucky closed his eyes and decided to go for broke.

He recalled that Christmas morning, when he’d first realized he loved her. He remembered praying to God to let him have the chance to tell her. Well, here was his chance, and Bucky wasn’t about to let her walk out that door without hearing it.

“If you’re worried that I’m falling in love with you, Y/N, it’s too late for that. I already have.”

“What?”

“I love you, Y/N.”

_Please say it back, say anything. Please don’t leave me._

Bucky could practically see the moment when she decided to let go.

Her lips parted and her shoulders dropped as if a huge weight had just been lifted from them. She smiled, the sweetest, most genuine smile he’d ever seen, one that seemed to light her from the inside. And it was made all the sweeter because it was just for him.

“I love you too, Bucky. I don’t know what that means for us or where it leads, but I do.”

Bucky let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Y/N carefully sat on the edge of the bed, her thigh just brushing against his side. She smiled softly and ran her fingers through his hair, and Bucky practically purred with joy. He caught her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist again, delighting in the pretty shade of rose that crept into her cheeks.

“So you’ll stay?” he asked.

“I’ll stay. I couldn’t…leaving you would’ve broken my heart, but I didn’t know what else to do. I just didn’t want to push things or make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I get it, I really do.”

“Let’s…just take it slow for now, okay?” She thoughtfully ran her thumb over the back of his hand. “Nothing has to change, we’ll just keep going on like we have been. You’re going to get better Bucky, and you won’t need me anymore…”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but she squeezed his hand. “…as a nurse. And then we can see where it goes from there. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Bucky beamed, excited at the possibility of a relationship with her. He was prepared to wait until the end of the world for her, but first…

“Can I…can I kiss you?”

He blushed, knowing that was the exact opposite of taking it slow. Bucky bit his lip, afraid of what her reaction would be.

Y/N was staring at him. Color had risen to her face as well, and her eyes were liquid with unmistakable attraction. Her lips twitched in a crooked smile, and Bucky’s breath hitched as she leaned down to him.

Her eyes fluttered closed as their lips met, and Bucky swore he felt his heart stop, if it wasn’t for the increasing tempo of the monitor. Her breath shuddered against his lips. Long, delicate fingers gently caressed his cheek.

Bucky wanted more. All he could manage was to hold a trembling hand against hers as his lips parted. Her tongue lightly brushed his and she let out a little whimper, and Bucky’s stomach coiled into a tight knot. She smelled amazing, and the taste of her—oh god—Bucky had never tasted anything sweeter.

All too soon, they broke apart, each of them breathing heavily. It was as if an electric current had passed between them, and they had both felt it. Each and every emotion was naked in her eyes, and Bucky’s heart melted at what he saw there.

She smiled, tenderly tucking a lock of chestnut hair behind his ear.

“You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “Nothing you can’t handle, Y/N…you’re one tough gal. You’ll keep me in line.”

She laughed and leaned in to kiss him again and Bucky smiled, happier than he’d been in a long, long time.


	5. Ghosts of My Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Minor Medical Procedures, Anxiety, Angst, Fluff
> 
> Warnings: Medical Procedures, Whump, Mentions of Death, Sickness, Anxiety, Depression, Angst, Fluff

There was a strange tension between you and Bucky now. You still went about your usual rounds, but everything was different now that he was fully awake. Everything was different now that you both had made your feelings known.

It had been two weeks since Bucky woke. You tried to keep everything professional while you were on duty, but he made it difficult sometimes.

Okay, he made it impossible sometimes.

The way he would look at you with such intensity, every emotion etched in the depths of his eyes, it made the simplest of tasks an intimate moment. The way his fingers would lightly brush against your leg while you took a blood sample or listened to his heart.

Even lying in a hospital bed and obviously not at his best, he was gorgeous. Especially looking at you like that, vulnerable and open and oh so obviously in love. It made the heat rise to your face, as well as somewhere…lower. Bucky knew the effect he had on you, his disarming grins and soft voice tying you in knots. 

There was only one time you had gotten stern with him, and honestly, you weren’t surprised. It was your first round of the evening, and Bucky had fidgeted the entire time. You could tell he was in pain, but he was doing his best to hide it.

“Bucky, what’s wrong? What’s hurting?”

“I’m fine, doll. Don’t worry.” He smiled at you, but you saw right through it.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Bucky’s face fell at your tone, and his face flushed with color. He looked like he was about to die of embarrassment.

“It…it’s the catheter. It’s, um…it pinches.”

You started to reach for the bedsheets, and his eyes went wide. His metal hand grabbed yours, stopping you. You leveled a glance at him.

“Bucky, either I can take a look at it, or I can get someone else in here, but you _have_ to let us help you. And may I remind you, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I’ve seen every inch of you, many times over.”

Bucky sighed and released your hand. “I’m sorry, I just…I forgot for a moment. Not that it matters, anyway…god knows how many people have seen me naked by now.”

You huffed a laugh. “Do you want me to get someone else? You really won’t offend me.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s okay.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably and laid back, staring at the ceiling. He tensed.

“Breathe, Bucky. I need you to keep breathing. In and out.”

You adjusted the equipment, and he took several deep and shuddering breaths. A tear of relief slipped from the corner of his eye, melting into his hairline. You clenched your jaw, realizing how much pain he had been in, but he hadn’t told you.

Bucky saw your look.

“I’m sorry, I…it’s just hard for me, sometimes, to—” he broke off and squeezed his eyes shut.

This time he couldn’t hold back the tears of frustration and embarrassment. You held him while he sobbed, and you had a feeling there was a lot more here than what he was telling you. You felt like Bucky had the weight of the world pressing down on him.

“I just hate being so weak in front of you,” he sniffed, wiping his face angrily. “You have to do _everything_ for me—I’m such a burden!”

You frowned. “Hey—look at me. You are _not_ a burden, and I think you are _anything_ but weak, Bucky. Maybe a little bit too stubborn and bullheaded for you own good sometimes, but never weak.”

You sat next to him and took his hands in yours. “You’ve got to talk to me, Bucky. That’s the _only_ way this is going to work. I love you, and I want to see you get better. But this lying to me and hiding your pain—that has to stop. It’s not helping.

“I’m not going to jeopardize your health, Bucky. If you’re not comfortable with me taking care of you like this it’s okay. I can transfer your care to another floor nurse, it’s not a big deal. Nothing needs to change between us—”

“No. Please. I want you, I-I don’t want anyone else. I’ll tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You brushed the hair back from his face, letting your fingers linger on his cheek. Bucky reached up and laid his hand over yours.

“It’s not easy, having to rely on someone like this, and you’re not the first person to struggle with it. I understand—I’m just worried about you, that’s all. This won’t be forever. Before you know it you’ll be back on your feet, a free man at last.”

A small shadow passed over Bucky’s face, but it was gone the next instant. You bent down at lightly kissed his cheek, lingering perhaps a little bit longer that what would be considered appropriate.

***

“Hey Bucky!”

His face broadened in a grin, and he struggled to push himself up in bed. He was getting stronger and was nearly able to get himself all the way up without assistance now.

“Hey, Y/N, you’re early!”

You smiled. “Yeah, I thought I’d come up a bit early to help you with dinner again.”

“Liar, you just missed my pretty mug,” he said cheekily.

“Okay, you caught me.”

You leaned down and kissed him. Bucky hummed and brushed his fingers against your jaw, and you could feel him smiling against your lips. You were still dressed in your street clothes—you shift didn’t start for another few hours.

“What about your workout?” Bucky looked concerned. “I know you use it to clear your head…”

You set the tray down. “I’m going to switch my workouts to after I get off duty. I saw how tired you were the past few days, you could barely keep your eyes open during my last few rounds. You’re a sweetheart for wanting to stay up, but you need to get your rest, Bucky.”

“I’ve been doing nothing but resting,” he grumbled petulantly.

“ _Sleep_. You need sleep. I’ll start visiting before my shift starts, and that way I won’t be keeping you up.”

Bucky reluctantly agreed. Then he narrowed his eyes, looking intently at you. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are _you_ getting enough sleep? Because can I see the dark circles under your eyes, doll, and I know you spend more time here than you do at home.”

He seemed genuinely worried, and you laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “Now who’s fussing over whom? I’m fine, Bucky.”

“Bullshit,” he snorted. “You’re running yourself ragged, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself, until I can get up out of this bed and…”

He blushed. Somehow you didn’t think he meant to say that much.

“And…”

“And take care of you for once,” he whispered.

You smiled and felt your face heat. Bucky looked up at you, and it was so obvious. He was so readable, every emotion constantly on display in those brilliant blue eyes. It took your breath away just to look at him. You sat on the bed next to him, and you took his hand.

“I’d like that.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he exhaled sharply. “Really?”

You nodded. “You get back on your feet again and get out of this place, and we can give it a try, if that’s what you still want…because I do.”

“I want that too, more than anything.”

You thought you detected a shadow of fear flit across his face, but it was gone the next second. Bucky stared at you for a moment longer, then he blinked and shook his head as if trying to clear it.

“So what’s for dinner tonight?” he asked, nodding at the tray. “Beef flavored goo and mashed potatoes, or chicken flavored goo and mashed potatoes?”

“Chicken, I think,” you said with a look of distaste. “And green Jell-O…your favorite.”

“Blech.”

“But…since you just happen to be my favorite patient, I swiped the last of the chocolate pudding from the break room.”

“Really?”

“All for you, Bucky,” you said with a laugh. “Do you want to try the spoon again tonight?”

You helped him sit higher in the bed. He really was getting stronger, but he was impatient. He got frustrated easily, and you could tell it embarrassed him, especially when he had to ask for help. Still, he kept doggedly trying, slowly improving his strength and fine motor skills.

His hands still shook terribly.

“There you go, you’ve got it,” you said, helping him to hold the spoon.

“Thanks,” he said, gripping it tightly and managing to get a few bites in by himself before he had to rest.

The hospital food was terrible, you knew, but for now that was it. You’d brought him some homemade chicken noodle soup that first week, but that had ended up disastrously for you both.

The mashed potatoes and the pudding was the easiest for him. Everything else kept sliding off, and Bucky would get so frustrated he’d just end up telling you he wasn’t hungry, even though you both knew it was a lie. He hated having to be fed. You knew he was trying to be strong for you, but you just kept reassuring him and encouraging him. It would come.

Honestly, you didn’t mind feeding him. It was an intimate act, and it usually only took a few minutes before the scowl was gone and he was smiling at you again.

True to your word, you remained completely professional with him while you were on duty, and Bucky didn’t push. He understood the line.

Even though you said you wouldn’t, you continued to visit him even after your shift ended, though, and those visits had begun to turn into little mini-dates. It all depended on how tired he was. Sometimes you’d sit with him and play cards to help his fine-motor control. Other times, he’d read to you from one of the books you’d brought him from home. You loved the sound of his voice, and you knew it meant a lot to him to be able to do something for you.

Tonight he was tired. Physical therapy had drained him, so you were sitting in bed with him, watching a movie, _His Girl Friday_ , an old Carey Grant black and white film. Bucky really liked the old movies. He’d get a look of such nostalgia, it broke your heart.

Because you knew who he was.

It was his arm. You knew it looked familiar, and you’d scoured the internet, looking up news stories and archived photos until you found it. It was a single article, dated around the time when the Black Widow had released the Triskelion files.

He was James Buchanan Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier. Imprisoned and experimented on by Hydra, and cryogenically frozen for decades, only to be thawed out to commit atrocities against the country he once loved.

It all made sense now. His seizure outside the Smithsonian, days after the Battle of the Triskelion. His coma and subsequent amnesia. His strange physiology. Once, you’d even heard him speaking Russian in his sleep.

None of it scared you, though. You knew he had been brainwashed, electricity being forced through his brain and triggering convulsions that nearly destroyed the man he used to be. You’d seen the evidence, firsthand. Bucky wasn’t to blame for the actions of the Winter Soldier.

You weren’t sure how much he actually remembered, but you thought it was quite a lot. Sometimes a shadow would come over his face, and he seemed fearful. Still, you didn’t push. Bucky would tell you when he was ready.

What did scare you was the thought of someone else figuring out who he was. There had to be people looking for him, and while some of them might mean well, you were worried about the people who would want to put him back into “service” again, or worse…imprison him.

“What’s on your mind, doll? You’re quiet,” Bucky said.

He was holding your hand, and his thumb grazed over your knuckles. He looked so tired. You knew he needed rest, but he insisted he was fine, wanting to spend time with you instead, and you found it hard to tell him no.

“I guess we’re both tired tonight, Bucky, I’m in a daze.”

“Why don’t you snuggle down by me? I won’t tell if you fall asleep,” he said, a sweet smile lighting up his face.

You started to protest, but he raised his arm and put it around your shoulders, pulling you close. Careful not to disturb any of the monitors or his IV, you gently leaned your head against his chest, and Bucky sighed happily.

***

Bucky looked down at the woman lying next to him. She was sound asleep, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, his arm wrapped protectively around her. Y/N. His sweet girl. His angel.

He knew it was a stretch, calling her _his_. He hadn’t been able to muster up enough courage to tell her who he really was yet, and until he did that, he really was nothing more than a stranger to him.

And he had to do it soon, because the longer he waited, the worse it was going to be.

Feelings had been shared, and he’d already kissed her a dozen times, some of them turning quite heated. Bucky was head-over-heels in love with her. He’d already begun to fantasize about a life with her.

He smiled down at her, her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, and her fingers twitched against his as she slept. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Before he had “woken up,” Bucky had wondered, of course, what she looked like. He’d wondered, but he didn’t imagine. It didn’t matter to him. To Bucky, she was already beautiful, because he’d seen the part of her that truly mattered—her heart.

He watched her sleep. She was curled into his side, as if seeking his warmth…his protection.

Protection. That was a laugh. As if he was actually capable of providing that for her. In fact, it was just the opposite—every day he stayed here was a risk.

A risk to him, and a risk to her.

Bucky’s face darkened. He held her a little tighter, rubbing his lips against the top of her head. He had to get out of this bed. He _had_ to get mobile. If they came while he was still here…

Bucky didn’t think they’d hurt her, not unless they knew about his connection with her. If they found out, though…

_You know exactly what they’d do, don’t you? They’d use her to control you, as leverage. Torture her for information about you. Or maybe even experiment…_

No.

Bucky’s lips tightened. He wasn’t going to let his mind go down that path, it only led to darkness.

He had to get his strength back. That, and he had to tell her who he really was. Bucky laid back and tiredly closed his eyes. He honestly didn’t know which of those was going to be harder.

***

**One Month Later**

Bucky grabbed the bedrail for support, his other arm wrapped tightly around Y/N’s shoulders. Together they managed to haul him into a standing position. His legs shook, but they held.

“There you go, you’ve got this. Let me know when you’re ready to walk a bit.”

Bucky drew in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

A couple hesitant steps. A few more. He leaned on her more than he would have liked, but Bucky was able to make it all the way to the bathroom.

“I’m so proud of you, Bucky,” she said, leaning against the doorframe.

Her back was to him, but he could tell she was smiling. It was all Bucky could do not to whoop with glee—never in a million years would he have thought he could feel such triumph from walking a few steps, let alone being able to stand and take a piss by himself.

He washed his hands and stood behind her, gripping the doorframe and pressing a kiss to her jaw. She laughed, and he took her hand.

“I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you, Y/N. I mean that.”

He nodded to the bed that he’d since developed an intense love/hate relationship with.

“I wanna try it by myself this time.”

Y/N nodded, her expression encouraging. It was yet another thing Bucky loved about her—she never doubted him. Only support and encouragement, maybe a kick in the ass from time to time when he needed it.

It was treacherous and ungraceful, but he made it, collapsing gratefully back into bed. He certainly wasn’t about to say anything, but that little jaunt had tired him out more than he cared to admit.

Bucky scooted over and laid back, making room for Y/N. God, was he glad not to be hooked up to a million different machines anymore. The only thing he had left was the standard IV port in his arm, left there just in case all hell broke loose.

Y/N took his hand in hers. She was biting her lip, and she looked a little nervous despite his recent achievement.

“Y/N? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Bucky, they’re transferring you out of the ICU.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, as if she were afraid of how he’d react.

“Wh-what?”

“Next week. You don’t need this level of care anymore, and the general rooms will be better while you regain your strength.”

“But…you won’t be…”

“I won’t be your nurse anymore, no.”

_No. I won’t get to see her as much anymore. Soon, they’ll discharge me…what the hell am I going to do then? What’s going to happen to us?_

Things were changing, and Bucky didn’t want them to.

Y/N took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. It was his metal hand. Bucky felt a wave of shame and disgust wash over him, and he blinked back hot, angry tears. The ghosts of his past had come calling, and it was time to tell her who he really was.

“Bucky, are you okay?”

He sighed deeply. “No.”

Her hand tightened around his, not demanding, just encouraging.

“I have something to tell you, Y/N, something I haven’t told the doctors yet.” Bucky said, trying to gather up the courage to say the words. His heart was thudding painfully in his chest, and the palm of his flesh hand was sweaty.

“I know who I am. I remember _everything_. I haven’t told the doctors yet, because once I tell them…once it’s out there, they’re going to take me away from you. I…it…”

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. God, this was hard.

“It’s going to come as a shock, and I hope you can forgive me. I hope it doesn’t…” he couldn’t even finish, because he knew he had no right to hope she would stay, not after she found out who he was.

Bucky took a deep breath and looked over at her.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes. I was born in 1917 and captured by Hydra in 1945. I’m the Winter Soldier.”

Silence. Bucky knew she would understand who that was, everyone did after the SHIELD files had been released. Just hearing that name, she would know exactly what he had done.

Y/N blinked for a moment, and then her brow furrowed. “So that’s what Bucky is short for. Buchanan. Huh.”

Bucky was speechless. Did she not hear him?

“You…didn’t you…I’m—”

“I heard you, Bucky. You were the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky blinked at her. Y/N sighed and wrapped her other hand around his. She idly traced the metal plates for a moment before speaking.

“I haven’t been truthful with you either, Bucky. I’ve known who you were for a while now.” He lips twitched in a smirk, although it held no humor. “It was your arm. I knew I’d seen it before…it didn’t take much searching online to figure it out. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, I just…figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

Bucky was stunned.

“Don’t you care? I—”

“I know all about the Winter Soldier, Bucky, or at least what was released last year. I know what that person was forced to do, and a little of what was done to him. And of course I _care_ , but not in the way that you mean.”

She gently brushed his hair back from his eyes. “I care that they hurt you, that they made you do horrible things. I care that they took you from your family and your friends. I care that you think that you’re somehow to blame for these things, because you’re not. That’s how I see it, and that’s how others will see it, too.”

“Not everyone,” he said, smiling sadly.

“No, not everyone, but the important people will. Steve will.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “How do you know about Steve?”

“He’s on your paper, the one we found in your pocket,” she said, smiling. “I assume you mean Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America and the best friend of Bucky Barnes.”

Christ, she was as smart as a whip. Bucky just blinked in surprise, his head spinning. He felt almost light-headed as she gently cupped his cheek.

“This doesn’t change anything for me. I still love you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s eyes started to burn. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, Y/N. You—”

He huffed and squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away. Y/N gently turned his face back towards him so she could softly kiss his lips before resting her forehead against his. She placed her hand over his heart and looked at him seriously.

“You’re a good man, Bucky. You deserve to be treated with kindness and compassion. You _deserve_ to be happy.”

“I’m happy with you, Y/N. I love you, so, _so_ _much_.”

***

You were worried.

Okay, to be honest, you were terrified.

After Bucky’s confession, you’d stayed with him a few more hours. Plenty of kissing and cuddling had been involved, but the two of you’d had a long talk about the future…namely, who exactly was looking for him and what might happen if he was found by them.

Bucky almost seemed more concerned about _you_ than himself, a fact that didn’t calm your worry one bit. Why on earth would they want you? You were nobody—it was Bucky you needed to protect.

Which led to where you were right now, in an empty hospital room, attempting to call the Avengers.

Here goes nothing.

“Good morning, you’ve reached SHIELD Headquarters, how may I direct your call?”

“Hi, my name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m an ICU nurse at Mercy General. I need to talk to Steve Rogers, I have some important information for him.”

“Ma’am—”

“Please, I need to talk to Captain America.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take all official—”

“I know where Bucky is!” you blurted. “Tell him that. I know where his friend Bucky is. He’s in trouble, and he needs help.”

You gave the woman your phone number and thanked her as she hung up.

_Well, that was a bust._

Deep down, you knew they weren’t just going to let you talk to him. They probably got hundreds of crazy calls like this every day. Your only hope was that you message would be delivered and Steve would reach out to you.

In the meantime, you had to think of a way to get Bucky to safety.

You eased out of the empty room, walking back to the nurse’s station. At the end of the hall, you saw a man in a suit talking to Dr. Phillips. That itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, men in suits were all over the hospital—administrators, lawyers, you name it. Still, something about him set off warning bells in the back of your mind.

You eased closer under the guise of getting something from the supply closet. Snippets of their conversation filtered to you.

“…a very interesting case. I’ve never seen physiology quite like this before.” Dr. Phillips was speaking now. “And that arm…a medical marvel.”

“You say he still has no idea who he is?”

“Not a clue, the poor man. We’ve had therapists working with him, and the night nurse seems to have developed quite a rapport with him, but—”

“What was her name again?”

Dr. Phillips told him, and you could hear the man writing something down.

“Yes, we’re going to want to talk to her too, here’s my card. I’d like to bring in some other doctors to consult on this, we’ll be in touch soon.”

“Why yes, I’m sure the Federal Government has access to some of the top neurologists—”

“Room 212, you said?”

You ducked further back into the room, your heart in your throat. That man was a Fed. He was asking about you, asking about Bucky.

They were going to take him.


	6. They Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Violence, Blood, Hostage Situation, Non/Con Drugging, Anxiety, Angst, Fluff
> 
> Warnings: Medical Procedures, Whump, Mentions of Death, Sickness, Anxiety, Depression, Angst, Fluff

**Avengers Tower**

The secretary hung up the phone, muttering to herself. Nat peeked at her from over the top of her magazine, one perfect eyebrow arched in amusement.

“What was that all about, Jen?”

“Some nutcase—wanted to talk to Captain America. Said she knew where ‘Bucky’ was.” She shook her head. “Some people. They think I’ve got nothing better to do—”

Nat sat up slowly, all levity gone from her face. “Say that name again.”

“What?”

“The name.”

“Bucky?”

Nat put her magazine down, her movements deliberate, as if she were already planning six steps ahead. “Tell me exactly what she said.”

Jen’s eyes were wide. “Sh-She said she was a nurse at Mercy General—an ICU nurse. She said to tell Steve Rogers that she knows where Bucky is. Th-that he’s in trouble, and he needs help.”

“Give me the number—the one she called in on.” Nat’s phone was already out, texting Steve and Sam. She then dialed the number the secretary gave her, but it rolled over to voicemail.

Steve strode into the lobby, Sam right on his heels. His expression was guarded but hopeful.

“What’ve you got, Nat?”

“I think we’ve got a line on Barnes, but we’re gonna have to move fast.”

***

Bucky smiled and settled a little further into the sheets. He didn’t even mind being back in bed again—his heart felt as light as a feather.

He’d finally managed to walk on his own today. Yes, it was only a few steps, but he was mobile. He was getting stronger. One step closer to getting out of there. He was being transferred out of the ICU and he’d see less of Y/N, but even that wasn’t bothering him right then.

Because Y/N knew who he was now.

She knew and she still loved him. Hell, she’d even figured it out, long before he said anything. All the cards had been laid on the table, and she still chose him. She wanted to be with him, and Bucky would do anything to make that happen. Anything, to keep her safe.

Bucky hadn’t thought he could love her any more than he already did, but that afternoon had proved him wrong. He was consumed with it, lifted up and made stronger because of it. It gave him purpose again.

Bucky chewed his lip. He had to think. He had to come up with a plan to get them both to safety, because if she figured out who he was, then it stood to reason someone else could have too. They could be coming for him right now—

The door opened quietly and shut quickly as Y/N rushed into the room.

Bucky brightened. He started to greet her, but the words died in his throat when he saw the look on her face.

“Y/N?” He struggled to sit up. “Honey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Her eyes met his, and he saw she was afraid. “They know, Bucky. They know who you are, and _where_ you are. They’re coming—”

“Woah, slow down. Who— _who_ knows? Tell me everything.”

She did. She told him about her attempt to contact Steve, and about seeing the Fed in the suit talking to Dr. Phillips.

“Lies,” she shook her head. “He didn’t listen to a word Dr. Phillips said about you, other than the room number and my name—”

“Wait—they know about _you_?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure it’s just for questions about you. We need to get you out of—”

Bucky grabbed her wrist. He needed her to understand. “It’s going to be a lot more than just questioning, Y/N. I can’t let them take you. We have to get out of here—both of us. _Now_.”

Now that it was actually here, that which he’d feared all along, Bucky was filled with a strange sense of calm. The world had narrowed, and he found himself coldly analyzing escape routes and scenarios. In a way it was strangely comforting, falling into that old familiar routine as muscle memory took over.

Y/N’s phone rang, and she frowned. It was an unknown number.

“Don’t answer that,” he said. “In fact, turn it off.”

She did as he instructed, and handed him the phone.

“It’s going to be okay, Y/N,” he said, gripping her hand. She was pale and her eyes were wide, but she looked just as determined as he felt. His lips twitched into a smile, and he brushed his thumb over her chin. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bucky.”

She kissed him. He could feel the desperation there, but her hands were steady as they held his. “What do you need me to do?”

Bucky nodded. Down to business. “Other than the main elevators and stairs, what other routes are there to the ground level?”

She thought a minute. “The maintenance elevators.”

“Good. I won’t be able to walk that far yet, so you’ll have to push me—”

“I can get a wheelchair.”

“No. We have to assume they already have eyes here, and they know what I look like. The main entrance is out of the question, and the ER will raise too many eyebrows…”

“What about the coroner’s entrance. In the sub-level? We could pretend you’re a cadaver, I can cover you with a sheet.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to kiss her again.

“Y-Yeah, that’ll work.” He grinned crookedly at her, before the urgency of the situation set in again. “What about transportation?”

“I have my car.”

He shook his head. “If they know who you are, they’ve already got your plates. What about the coroner’s van—they leave the keys in it?”

“I can check.” She said. “I’ll also grab a pair of orderly scrubs for me, and some civies for you from the locker room.”

“Okay. We won’t be able to use the van for long, they’ll find out its missing pretty quickly. There’s a parking garage across town, I’ve used it before. We’ll ditch the van and find somewhere to lay low until I get my strength back…”

Bucky trailed off, realizing what this meant. He was going to be on the run again, only this time he was dragging her into it. Straight into the line of fire. There wasn’t much alternative, he couldn’t let them get their hands on her, but still—the road ahead was dangerous and uncertain. He could care less about himself, but the thought of Y/N getting hurt, or worse…

Warm hands wrapped around his. Strong hands. Hands he knew almost better than his own. Bucky’s lips tightened, and he looked at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this for you.”

“It’s always been my choice, Bucky. This isn’t your fault, you didn’t put me in danger.”

“Didn’t I?” His voice was tortured.

“No. I fell in love with you long before you opened your eyes, before you even said a word to me, and I’ve been falling harder for you every day since then. I’m coming with you, even after we get out of here. I can’t just let you walk out of my life, not knowing if you’re safe or not. I’m not leaving you. I’m choosing this.”

Bucky swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

She kissed him, hard, and Bucky felt the force of her passion behind it. It was enough to leave him reeling. He gripped her wrist, trying to convey his fears as she stood to leave.

“Don’t take the main routes, and if you see someone you don’t recognize or something seems off, just turn around. Walk the other way. Keep an eye on your escape options, don’t let yourself get boxed in.”

He felt like he was trying to sum up a lifetime of experience in escape and evasion to her in less than five minutes, and it was scaring the shit out of him.

_Fuck! I wish it was me going instead of her._

“Y/N…” Hus jaw worked, and he swallowed thickly. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

With one last look at him, she slipped out of the door. Bucky closed his eyes. He sank back against the sheets and clenched his fists, grounding himself.

_Deep breath in, deep breath out._

Compartmentalizing his anxiety, his fear. Opening his mind and allowing the Soldier to take control, calling upon his training to get them both to safety. His heartrate slowed, and when he opened his eyes again, the world had resolved itself into statistics and outcomes.

He leaned over and pulled Y/N’s laptop out of her bag. His fingers flew over the keys, mapping out an escape route across the city, along with several locations where they could lay low. Each was committed coldly to memory, as well as the time table for every bus and train out of the city. Locations where they could steal a car. Nearby pharmacies and convenience stores where they could stock up on supplies.

The location of a couple guns and ammo stores where he could stock up on other necessities as well.

Finally he had the information he needed. Bucky wiped the computer’s hard drive and powered it down. He looked at the clock, and realized with a start that she’d been gone almost an hour.

_Where the hell is she? She should be back by now._

Anxiety began to creep in again. Bucky sat up straighter, staring a hole in the door. It took everything he had not to try to get up and go after her—he needed to conserve his strength, and he knew he wouldn’t make it more than five feet before he collapsed.

Finally the door swung open, but Bucky was wholly unprepared for who walked through it.

“Steve?”

An icy wave of shock surged through him, and Bucky felt the bottom drop out from under him. Steve, and…Natasha? And another man he didn’t know, but vaguely recognized from the fight on the Helicarrier.

“Bucky.”

Steve’s voice was strained and his eyes were tortured as the trio crowded into the room. They were dressed in hospital scrubs, and Natasha was pushing a gurney. Steve hesitantly reached out, touching his face, his hair.

“You remember me?” His eyes were bloodshot.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. “I remember everything, Stevie.”

“Are you hurt?”

Steve’s eyes dropped down, scanning his body as if to make sure himself. Natasha and the other man had maneuvered the gurney close to his bed and were starting to throw back the sheets.

“I-I’m okay, what are you—”

“We’re getting you outta here, Buck. The doctors put it together, they know who you are now. The place is crawling with Agents.”

“Feds?”

“Hydra.”

_Y/N! Where is she, oh god, if they’ve got her—_

Steve caught his look and mistook Bucky’s fear. “Don’t worry, we’re taking you to a safe place. They won’t find you there, and we can sort this whole mess out. I’ve got you Buck, it’s going to be okay.”

Bucky struggled to sit up.

“No, wait! Y/N…I can’t leave her, she won’t know where I—”

“Who’s Y/N?”

Hands were trying to hold him down, to calm him. Bucky roughly pushed them away.

“Get off me! She’s the one that called you, Steve, she—she helped me. _I love her_ —"

“They’re going to arrest you, Barnes,” Natasha said coldly. “You know what’ll happen if Hydra takes you, but the Feds—you’re wanted for the crimes you committed as the Winter Soldier. They’re going to arrest you, try you, and most likely execute you if we don’t do this. We need time to clear your name.”

She and Steve tried to press him back against the bed again. Bucky’s heart went into overdrive, and he flailed against their hands.

“Wait! Stop—Steve, just wait a minute!”

“Bucky, keep your voice down,” Steve hissed. “Y/N’s gonna be fine.”

“No! She’s been talking to me, spending time with me. Everyone on this floor knows how close we are. They know. They’ll take her, they’ll hurt her, I can’t let—”

Bucky tried to push himself up, and he got to a sitting position before Steve forcefully pushed him back. His mind was a white haze of panic. He thrashed, his metal arm swinging out and connecting with Steve’s abdomen.

Steve doubled over, absorbing the blow. Natasha stepped in front of him as Bucky swung his legs over the side of the bed and started to stand.

“James, calm down.”

“No, I have to find her. I’m not leaving without—”

Movement on his right, and he felt a pinch and a stinging sensation in the side of his neck. He gasped. Liquid warmth began to spread through his limbs, making them feel heavy. Bucky turned his head and saw the syringe in Steve’s hand.

“No…no, please…d-don’t…”

He stared at the syringe. It doubled, his vision growing fuzzy. The blood rushed in his ears.

“Nonono, please…Y/N…Y/N…”

He kept trying to fight it, but it was too much. Bucky sank back onto the bed as the world slipped sideways and he faded into oblivion.

***

Bucky’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed, his hand falling limply from Steve’s wrist.

“Fuck, that was fast—how much did you give him?” Nat asked, looking a little concerned. She’d caught him as he fell, and she and Sam were struggling to pull the unconscious super soldier onto the gurney.

“Enough sedative to take down an elephant,” Steve said, looking a little worried himself. “I couldn’t have him thrashing around and hollering…would’ve given us away for sure.”

Steve couldn’t believe he was actually looking at Bucky. They’d searched for him, but the soldier had vanished without a trace after the fight on the Helicarrier. He lightly brushed back his friend’s unkept, shaggy locks, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat. Steve had almost given up hope, thinking that he was dead, or worse—recaptured by Hydra.

He fingered Bucky’s pulse. It was slow but steady, his breathing relaxed. Steve felt awful for having to sedate him, but at this point, an alert Bucky was nothing more than a liability. Hydra Agents had descended upon the hospital with frightening speed, and their window was quickly closing.

“We got a plan for getting’ sleeping beauty outta here?” Sam asked.

“Down and out through the ER, it’s jam-packed right now,” Nat said as she pulled the sheet over Bucky.

“What about the girl?” Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Barnes seemed pretty upset.”

“Nothing we can do. We don’t have time to try to find her.”

Sam looked at him, and Steve clenched his jaw. He didn’t like abandoning her to Hydra any more than Sam did, but there just wasn’t any time. He wasn’t going to risk losing Bucky again.

Sam’s mouth pressed into a frown, but he didn’t say anything else. Steve ignored him.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta move.”

Nat held the door open as he and Sam pushed the gurney out into the hallway. They’d almost reached the elevators when a nurse rounded the corner. Steve swerved to avoid her, but her hand shot out at the last minute, gripping the cart and bringing it to a halt. Her eyes flashed with anger.

“What’re you— _Steve Rogers_?”

Steve’s eyes flashed down to her badge. Y/N Y/L/N.

It was her.

***

_“Don’t take the main routes, and if you see someone you don’t recognize or something seems off, just turn around. Walk the other way. Keep an eye on your escape options, don’t let yourself get boxed in.”_

_Jesus Christ, if it only were that easy._

Everywhere you turned, there was someone suspicious. Men in suits, new faces in scrubs that you didn’t recognize, name tags that didn’t ring a bell. You felt like there was a noose slowly tightening around your neck, and you were starting to panic.

You’d been gone for far too long. It had taken forever to get the clothes you needed, and you’d taken the extra risk of breaking into Charlotte’s locker, tucking the taser you knew she carried into your pocket.

Just in case.

After what seemed like several lifetimes you finally reached the doors to the ICU, pushing them open and ducking around the corner. You were so intent on reaching room 212 that you were almost run over by a gurney being pushed rather quickly down the hall.

The orderly swerved to pass you, but you froze when you caught a glimpse of his face. Blond hair and blue eyes, the same ones you’d seen on countless Captain America posters. You grabbed the rail, stopping them.

His eyes flashed down to your badge, and something in between surprise and relief flooded his eyes.

“You’re Y/N? Bucky’s Y/N? Are you the one who called?”

You looked from him to the other faces…the Black Widow and the Falcon. Your head was spinning.

“Where are you—”

“We’re getting him out of here. You’re coming too, you’re picture’s plastered all over downstairs.” Steve started to push towards the main elevators, but you stopped him.

“Not that way, you’re not, that way’s crawling with people,” you said, pushing them back towards a large, open door. You hurriedly ushering them inside and locked the door behind you.

“A supply closet?”

“Two exits. The rear opens up to the maintenance hallway.” You pulled the sheet down and uncovered Bucky’s face, trying to get a look at him. His pupils were dilated, and his pulse and respiratory rate were slow—he’d been drugged.

“What’d you give him?”

Steve told you, his mouth a thin line. You could tell he hadn’t wanted to. “He was making a scene, wouldn’t calm down—he wanted to go find you.”

You huffed a little laugh as you smoothed Bucky’s hair back from his eyes. Despite the gravity of the situation, warmth pooled in your chest at the thought of how protective he was of you.

“You guys have a plan to get out of here? ‘Cause you just shot ours all to hell,” Nat said.

“We did, but I’m not sure if it’s going to work now.”

You explained the plan Bucky had come up with. It was solid, but just one problem—the keys hadn’t been in the coroner’s van.

“We’ve got our own wheels, trust me—that’s not going to be a problem,” Sam said.

“Sam, go bring it around to the coroner’s entrance, stay on the comms.”

Steve was taking command now, tossing a set of orderly scrubs at you and Nat as he put on glasses and a lab coat. As they changed, you caught a glimpse of the weaponry she was carrying, and your eyes went wide. Suddenly the taser in your pocket felt very small and insignificant.

Nat saw your stare. “Not unless we have to. Just stay behind me, stay with Barnes. Steve and I’ll do the rest.”

“Okay.”

“Ready?” Steve was looking at you, his eyes blazing with determination.

You stuffed your frayed nerves down as deep as they would go and pushed out into the hallway. Steve and Nat flanked the gurney, looking for all the world like two guard dogs—or maybe that was just because you knew what they were capable of.

Agents up ahead, two of them. They were scanning the hallway, and just beyond them…the maintenance elevators. You forced yourself to maintain a slow and respectful pace, even though every nerve was screaming at you to run.

_Don’t mind us, just two orderlies escorting a body below. Nothing to see here._

You noticed Nat had dropped back slightly, maintaining a boundary between you and the Agents as you passed. You thought you heard one of them murmur something, but you must have been mistaken, because they let you pass without a second look.

The doors of the elevator were just starting to slide closed when a hand shot in, holding the door.

“Going down?” The Agent from the hallway asked, smiling politely as he and his partner stepped in.

Nat popped gum you hadn’t realized she’d been chewing. “Long as you don’t mind ridin’ down with a dead guy.”

Steve huffed a laugh from the corner. He leaned casually against the wall, texting on his phone. The doors closed. It was a tight fit, and you were sandwiched between the gurney and the wall.

It felt like time had stood still as the elevator slowly whirred to life. The floors counted down and the Agents simply stared straight ahead, and as you passed the ground floor you almost laughed out loud with relief.

Almost.

A soft groan, and Bucky’s head rolled to the side. An even louder one from Steve, as he stepped in front of you and held up his phone.

“Goddamnit, the Yankees traded DeMilo! He’s on my fantasy team.”

“Aww man, that sucks,” Nat said.

Bucky didn’t make another sound. He seemed to have fallen back under, but the damage had been done. You forced yourself not to look over at the Agents, but it felt like the tension in the room had doubled.

“Well, this is us,” Nat said cheerily as the elevator doors dinged open. Trembling inwardly, your heart in your throat, you pushed the gurney forward on wooden legs.

Before you knew what was happening, an arm snaked around your throat. You yelped as you were yanked back and the gurney was ripped from your hands. Nat and Steve both had their guns drawn, and you felt the unmistakable coldness of a gun barrel press against your temple.

Your mind blanked, whiting out in fear.

“Step away from the Asset, and we’ll let her go.”

“Not happening, pal.”

The Agent jammed the gun harder against the side of your head. You couldn’t let them take Bucky—you just _couldn’t_.

“J-Just take him and go, Steve. Please.” You were visibly shaking now. “Get him out of here.”

“No, Y/N. Bucky would kill me.”

One of the Agents started towards the gurney. Steve stepped in front of it, while Nat kept her weapon trained on the man holding you hostage.

“Steve, remember that story about Odesa?”

His jaw clenched. “You sure?”

“Yep. Sorry, Y/N.”

The world erupted into chaos. Gunfire echoed in the tight hallway. Something wet and sticky splashed the side of your face the same moment a swath of fire blazed across your arm. The Agent holding you flew backwards, taking you with him.

Sightless eyes stared at you, and you shrank away, realizing you were covered in his blood. You didn’t even realize the shooting had stopped until you felt small, cold hands tilting your face up.

“She okay?”

“Just a graze,” Nat said, passing her fingers over your arm. “Come on, Y/N, we’ve got to move.”

She hauled you to your feet as you stared dumbly down at the two dead Agents. Steve and Nat both had their guns out now, all pretense of being hospital workers lost. Blindly you followed them, pushing Bucky down the hall towards the double doors that marked the exit.

Running footsteps and the sound of gunfire, as more Hydra Agents skidded around the corner. Bullets ripped up the wall next to you, the glass shattering.

You might have screamed, you weren’t sure.

Steve hollered into his earpiece. “Sam, we’re taking fire, where the hell are you?”

He grabbed Bucky, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry as his hand locked down on your wrist. He roughly tugged you towards the exit just as a van screeched to a stop. Something small and metallic and strangely bird-like flew through the doors, firing rapidly over Nat’s head at the pursuing Agents as she backed towards the door, covering your escape.

“C’mon, let’s go!” Steve unceremoniously shoved you into the back of the van. He and Nat jumped in, still firing through the open rear doors as the van skidded out of the hospital parking lot.

The van picked up speed, and you pulled Bucky’s head into your lap, running your fingers through the long brunette locks. Probably as more of a comfort to you than him at this point, because your hands were still shaking with adrenaline.

“Y/N?” A metal hand reached up and touched your face.

Bucky’s voice was soft and his speech slurred, but he looked up at you, his eyes grey and glazed over in a narcotic haze. They widened in concern seeing the blood that still coated your face and shoulder.

“I’m okay, Bucky. It’s not mine.” You smiled weakly down at him. “I-It’s over now, you’re safe. We both are.”

He murmured your name again, blinking heavily. Tears gathered in your eyes, and you grasped his hand tightly, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Bucky smiled faintly. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, but it was a losing battle.

“Shh…just sleep now, we’re safe. I’m here with you. It’s over.”

From the other side of the van, Steve watched you. A small smile tugged at his lips. You weren’t sure what the future would hold—all you knew is that you and Bucky were together, and he was finally safe.

It was over.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Fluff
> 
> Warnings: Medical Procedures, Whump, Mentions of Death, Sickness, Anxiety, Depression, Angst, Fluff

Bucky drifted in and out, slowly floating to the surface where consciousness lay. He felt lazy, serene. Cool sheets pressed against his back, and he felt soft linen draped over his body. All he could hear was a clock ticking, somewhere over to his left, and the sound of his own breathing, slow and relaxed.

_Oh. I’m still here. I never…was it all just a dream? Waking up?_

Bucky wasn’t sure. He couldn’t tell if it was night or day…everything felt off. He hoped it was night, because then Y/N would be coming to see him. She’d open that door, and she’d—

_Wait. What if she was a dream, too? What if…what if she wasn’t real?_

No. Bucky Barnes was still pretty messed up in the head, but he knew some things. And he _knew_ Y/N had been real. The memories were too vivid. The sound of her voice, her touch, her smell—they were all painted on his soul.

_Wait._

_The smell._

_Something’s not right._

The room didn’t smell right. It didn’t smell like a hospital, and now, come to think of it, it sure didn’t sound like a hospital. No machines, no beeps and whooshes, no distant chatter of the nurses.

_Where the hell am I?_

Fear shot through him, and his fingers clenched instinctively. That surprised him.

Experimentally, he flexed his fingers again. And then again.

Bucky found that he could move his whole body on command, so he tried to open his eyes. They were a little gummy, but he got them open.

_Definitely not a hospital room._

It was nice. Modest furnishings, a bedroom in an apartment, maybe. It was daytime, but the sky was clouded over with rain—he could see that through a large window on the right.

_We must be very high up._

Bucky rotated his head to explore the other half of the room. There was a table and a dresser and a chair, and…and…

_Steve._

He must have said the name out loud, because the sleeping figure in the chair jolted awake.

“Bucky.” Steve barely breathed his name, almost as if he was afraid his friend would fade away if he said it too loudly.

“Wh-where am I?”

Bucky struggled to sit up, and to his surprise, he found that it wasn’t a struggle at all. He raised his hands in front of his face and stared at them.

They weren’t shaking anymore.

“You’re at the Avengers Tower. Actually, it’s Stark’s Tower—Tony Stark, Howard’s son.”

_Tony Stark. Howard’s son._

Bucky felt his stomach drop, but he decided to file that away in the “to be examined later” box.

Steve leaned forward, staring at him. “I-I’m sorry about how we had to get you out of there, Buck. I’m sorry about sedating you—”

Bucky remembered.

“Y/N.” He scrambled up, throwing aside the sheets and swinging his legs over the bed. “I have to find her— _we just left her there!_ I have to—”

Steve grabbed him by the shoulders. “She’s safe, Buck. She’s here. _She’s_ the one who helped us get you out.”

“She’s here?”

Steve nodded. “Right downstairs. Tony and Pepper are talking with her, in-processing for an extended stay for her own protection. She wanted to be up here when you woke, but it kinda couldn’t wait.”

“Y/N’s safe. She’s here.” Bucky said it again, almost to convince himself.

“You don’t remember the van? You woke up for a little bit…you were pretty out of it, though…”

_The van. Y/N was holding me, running her fingers through my hair. Smiling and talking to me, but she…she looked scared. Blood—so much—on her face, on her neck and shoulder—_

“There was blood—is she hurt? What happ—”

“She’s okay.” Steve had both hands on his shoulders now, tying to quell the panic. “We had a bit of a fight getting out of there, the blood wasn’t hers. She took a little graze, that was it. We patched her up in the van.”

Steve gave his shoulders a little squeeze. “She’s safe, Buck. She should be back up here soon.”

Bucky looked down, clenching and unclenching his hands. His brain was still trying to process the last few minutes.

“We brought you right to medical when we got here. Our head physician, Dr. Cho—she has this thing called a regeneration cradle. It was able to speed up the repair to the nerve damage from the seizure.”

“Oh.”

Bucky stood up, and walked to the window on steady legs. He still couldn’t get over that. He looked out over the city— _New York, I’m back in New York_ —and watched the rain hit the side of the building. They were very high up.

“Buck? What happened?” Steve had stood as well, standing a few cautious feet behind him. “Why’d you run? Where did you go…after?”

Bucky crossed his arms and looked down. The plates in his metal arm shifted in distress, and he rubbed it absently.

“I almost killed you Steve.”

“You didn’t, though. You stopped. You pulled me from the river. _You remembered me_.”

Bucky shook his head. “I remembered that I _should_ remember you. I remembered that you were very, very important to me, and that what I was doing was horribly wrong.”

“Do you remember now?”

“Yes.” Bucky turned to face him. “I remember you Steve, and I remember the man I was. But…that person’s gone now. He didn’t survive the fall. I went to the Smithsonian that day looking for answers, and I got them. I remember _everything_.”

And he did. The torture and the beatings, the blinding pain as they took what was left of his arm and gave him the new one. The isolation, the degradation.

And then, the training. The physical and emotional training. Increasing his pain tolerance, his hyperawareness of his body’s every move. The intense psychological reconditioning as they slowly stripped him of everything that made him human. Erasing the man. Making him a ghost.

A weapon.

The murders. The assassinations. The brutality and the blood. Oh god, he remembered that too.

“They broke me Steve, over and over until there was nothing left. Then they told me you were dead. They showed me the newspaper.” There were tears in his eyes now, the pain still fresh. “That’s when I gave up. I gave in. I was barely even human anymore, and in the end, I begged them to make it stop. I begged them to make me forget.”

Steve took a step towards him, his hand raised like he wanted to touch Bucky, to comfort him, but he let it drop to his side again. There were tears in his eyes as well.

“And then, that day on the Helicarrier…I tried to kill my best friend. The man I was fighting was a stranger to me, but…but I knew I should remember you, but I couldn’t. I was failing my mission because of it. It made me weak. It made me _angry_.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched and his brow darkened, and for a moment, Steve thought he was looking at the Soldier again. Then the shadows left his face, and the blue eyes he knew so well were looking at him with regret.

“I almost beat you to death. I shot you…stabbed you. Everything was crashing down, and everything I thought I knew was _wrong_. I just wanted you to shut up.” Bucky stared blankly out the window. “I pulled you from the river because I didn’t want to be used anymore. I didn’t stay, I didn’t look for you because…because I didn’t think you’d want to see me, now that you’d seen what I’ve become.”

“I never stopped looking for you after that day, Bucky. I know you’re hurting, I know you’ve changed, but you’re still my friend.”

Bucky felt his eyes start to burn. Even now, after everything, Steve still considered him a friend.

“I had a long, long time to think about everything, after the seizure…it was like…being awake, but _not_ being awake.” Bucky said, looking back at the window. “It was a long, long time to be left alone with all of that. I-I don’t think I’m over it, but…I’ve accepted it.”

Bucky’s lips moved silently, as if he was talking to himself, and he blinked rapidly. A large, warm hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I let you fall. I-I should’ve gone back for you. I left you there—”

“Not your fault, Steve. It’s not anyone’s fault, other than the ones who did it. I know that now.” Bucky sighed, and his lips twitched as he looked at his friend. “It’s all over now. Water under the bridge. We can’t go back and change the past, we can only move forward from here, right?”

Steve smiled sadly. “That’s very poetic of you.”

“Y/N taught me that. She showed me love and kindness when I was a complete stranger. She accepted me even after she found out who I was. She showed me that I can move past this. She _saved_ me.”

Steve huffed and pulled Bucky close. He tensed for only a second, but then he allowed himself to relax as Steve wrapped his arms around him. The hug was different now. He was the smaller one. It was strangely disorienting but comforting at the same time, reminiscent of the single hug they’d shared after Steve had rescued him at Azzano.

“I missed you, you jerk.”

Bucky laughed softly, burrowing his face in Steve’s shoulder. “I missed you, too…punk.”

The two friends held each other, all the weight and the pain and the words unsaid passing between them. So many years lost. They were both different people now, but deep, deep down there was still a sliver left of the two boys from Brooklyn.

***

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door, slowly swinging it open like you’d done a hundred times before. Only this time it was a different door.

“Hey, Bucky.”

He was standing with his back to you, looking out of the window. His hair was brushed back from his face, and he was wearing jeans and a henley—still the same man you knew from Room 212, but at the same time, completely different.

His head turned sharply at the sound of your voice, and his eyes widened in relief. In three long strides he was across the room, sweeping you into a bone-crushing hug. Bucky moaned your name as if it physically hurt him to say it.

“I-I thought I was never going to see you again,” he whispered into your hair. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m here. We’re both here.”

You laid your head on his shoulder and he shifted his grip, brushing his hand down your shoulders. You hissed as his fingers brushed against your injured arm, and he quickly pulled back. Gingerly, he peeled the jacket off your shoulders, his eyes widening as he took in the bloodied bandage on your arm.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s just a graze.”

“Why didn’t you go to medical? Jesus, Y/N—”

“Everything kind of happened quickly after we got here, I just forgot.”

Bucky shook his head. It was the “I’m not tired” argument all over again. His heart clenched at the thought that you’d been hurt…that a bullet had even passed that close to your precious skin. He absolutely refused to think of what could have happened.

He frowned and gently guided you to the couch, despite your protests.

“Really, I’m fine—”

“Nurses make the worst patients, do you know that?” Bucky huffed. “Please. Let me take care of you.”

You nodded, your lips curling into a little smile as you felt your face heat under the intensity of his gaze. Stormy blue eyes sharpened in concentration as he cleaned and re-dressed the wound.

Bucky took his time. For all the strength that his hands held, his touch was exceedingly gentle. You smiled as you watched him work, not failing to recognize the juxtaposition, the reversal of roles as he tended to you. He finished securing the dressing, and held his hand lightly over the wound.

“There. I should probably re-check that tomorrow, change the bandage…”

“Thank you, Bucky.” You placed your hand over his, and his eyes met yours.

His lips thinned. “I’m gonna kill Natasha. Steve told me what happened, I can’t believe she shot the guy through you.”

“She said she was just stealing a page out of your book,” you said with a smirk. “She just did what she had to do.”

Bucky cupped your face, searching. “Are you okay?”

“I was a little shaken up at first, but I’m okay now. We’re both safe, and we’re both together. That’s what matters.”

Bucky raised himself to his knees, still slotted between your legs. He gently tugged you forward until you were face to face, and his eyes fluttered closed as he brushed his nose against your cheek.

“All that matters,” he agreed, “is that I’m here with you, Y/N…my sweet girl…my angel…my world.”

He punctuated each sentiment with a long, soft kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lifted you, pulling you into his lap. Kisses became heated, passionate. You felt so safe in his arms, wrapped protectively around you like bands of iron, yet soft and yielding, comforting.

Finally, Bucky pulled away slightly, smiling up at you with radiant adoration. Eyes never leaving yours, he took your hand, pressing a kiss to your wrist before settling it in place over his heart.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

You curled into his shoulder as he cuddled into you with a happy little sigh. He rested his cheek on the top of your head, and together you sat and watched the rain.

It had been a long, long journey for him, but he was finally safe, surrounded by friends and the woman he loved more than life itself.

James Buchanan Barnes, America’s longest serving prisoner of war, was finally home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Fluff
> 
> Warnings: Medical Procedures, Whump, Mentions of Death, Sickness, Anxiety, Depression, Angst, Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a short little chapter to wrap things up, pure fluff! Thank you for reading, and thank you to everyone for the kind comments and kudos. You guys make my day!

“Hey, doll.”

You heard the words and felt the arms around your waist two seconds before a scruffy, four-legged body shot between your legs, nearly knocking you down. You yelped and the arms tightened around your waist, keeping you upright.

“Bucky!”

His grin widened and he planted a firm kiss on your jaw as your dog Sadie sat there on the floor staring up at you with a wildly happy look on her face, tongue hanging out and tail wagging.

“I’m here for my check-up, I got here early ‘cause I heard there was a really hot nurse working here now, and I was hoping to—oh, wait, there she is.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Nope, just you, doll,” he grinned moving down towards your lips. “You’re my favorite.”

Your giggle was muffled by his lips as he kissed you, pressing you back into the exam table. Sadie’s tail started wagging harder, rapping out a loud tattoo against the filing cabinet.

You scowled. “You know Helen is gonna kill you for bringing her in here.”

“Only if she finds out,” he shrugged. “Sadie, hide.”

The dog turned and crawled behind the table, out of sight and utterly silent. You laughed.

“Bucky, what have you been teaching her?”

“All my best assassin skills. Hide, find, play dead…we’re working on breaking down the Dragunov but she’s still a bit rusty there.”

You laughed as you gestured to the table. “I knew it the moment I saw you—nothing but trouble.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“I do.”

Bucky shrugged out of his henley as you started working, collecting a blood sample and taking his vitals. Dr. Cho had him come down to the lab once a week for monitoring and new scans. Now that he wasn’t being electrocuted regularly his brain was showing remarkable improvement, the serum back up to full strength as it worked to repair the damage.

There was a faint smile on his face as he watched you work and listened to the constant monologue that you maintained, telling him about your day, asking about his, recounting a funny prank that Tony had played on Bruce earlier that day. Speaking with enthusiasm like you hadn’t seen him in months, when you had just woken up in each other’s arms a few hours ago.

Nothing had changed. Not a thing, and Bucky was very glad of it. Your hands soft and gentle against his skin, the honeyed sound of your voice as you excitedly talked with him.

Except you were his now, both of you safe and sound and living together at the Tower, so maybe a few things had changed after all.

Bucky was the luckiest man in the world. He got to wake up to you every morning, and a flush of heat rose to his cheeks as his eyes gazed down your figure and he recalled the activities in bed last night.

You glanced up at him. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing good, I can assure you,” he said as he cocked an eyebrow mischievously.

You rolled your eyes dramatically but couldn’t suppress a grin. Bucky was a shameless flirt, and he had the ability to melt you right into a puddle on the floor with one flash of those baby blues.

And he knew it, too.

“I’ll go tell Helen you’re ready, big guy…don’t go anywhere till I get back.”

“I’ll always be waiting right here for you, doll.”

You’d been living at the Tower with Bucky for a few months now. Dr. Cho had given you a job in the lab, and she and the rest of the Avengers were already like family to you both. His name had been cleared but the thread of Hydra still loomed, so you both had yet to venture out from the Tower.

Little did you know, though, that was about to change.

Bucky was walking you down to lunch after his appointment, when he suddenly took your hand and pulled you gently into a little alcove. He chewed his lip thoughtfully for a second, playing with your fingers before speaking.

“So…Helen passed me with flying colors…I’m cleared for missions now.”

“Oh.”

You were happy for him, you really were, but the thought of him placing himself in danger again…

Bucky saw your look. “Hey—I’ll be alright. I won’t be alone this time. I’ll have a great group of people watching my back…”

“…they’re all superheroes, I know. Just like you.” You shook your head. “That doesn’t mean I won’t worry.”

“I know. But I have to do this. I have to give back…try to make amends and balance out all the things I’ve done.”

“I understand, Bucky. I do. And I’ll always be waiting for you when you get back.” You wrapped your arms around him and he cradled your head to his chest. “When do you leave?”

“Not for a few weeks,” he murmured into your hair. He kissed the top of your head and you felt a great huff of warm air as he sighed.

“I was thinking, though, if I can handle missions, I think I can handle taking my best girl out on a date.”

You pulled back and looked at him. “Really?”

He smiled. “Yep. I’ve got it all planned out, so you better be ready—tonight at seven, sharp, I’m picking you up and we’re gonna see just how much this town’s changed in seventy five years.”

Bucky spun you around and pulled you back into his chest. “And then, next weekend I thought we could take that road trip you were talking about down to New Jersey.”

“You…you want to meet my family?”

“If you still want me to.”

Bucky must have mistook your surprise for second thoughts, because he suddenly looked a little nervous. You laughed and kissed him, hard. He groaned, and his hands tightened around your hips.

“Does that answer your question, mister?”

He hummed and weaved his fingers through your hair, pulling you closer to him as his lips parted beneath yours in a kiss that stole your breath away.

Bucky Barnes, a hundred-year-old ex-assassin, one of the deadliest men alive. Yet he was a gentle soul and a kind heart, and you loved him more than words could say. This man, who had fallen for you even before he ever saw your face.

Your life changed forever the day you walked into Room 212, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be 8 chapters in this series, it'll be updated every Thursday 8am EST. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are welcome and appreciated!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @constantwriter85


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